Chapter 12
Jonathan Avery was an unusual boy.
He was quiet, observant, and pragmatic—and nothing, not even the worst of scenarios rattled him. And it was this quality of nonchalance that had made Tom notice him.
It had been right after Tom had accidentally killed the mud blood in the second floor bathroom. Avery had been passing by and a piercing shriek had grabbed his attention.
He had run inside, only to find Tom alone with a dead body in tow and for the first time, Avery had seen him sweating. He had been anxious back then. Their association had been quite casual until then, confined to a few greetings and nods of deference from his side—Tom had already had a bad reputation in the Slytherin circles and Avery had no desire to cross him for questions of mere ego.
Immediately upon witnessing the scene that day, Avery had offered unsolicited help and advice—both of which Tom had taken gladly and they had fled the scene after erasing every piece of evidence. Later, Avery had made sure that any portraits that witnessed them were disposed of quickly, before the Ministry investigators arrived.
And ever since then, he had become a part of Tom's group.
He had seen Tom at his worst and his best but never before had he doubted the boy's sanity.
Nothing had ever rattled him about Tom.
Before this.
Before that night.
"You're joking, right," he said in a level voice.
It was never a good thing to show fear, especially in front of Tom when he was in his maniacal streak.
Malfoy was gaping at Tom with an expression of disbelief and fear. Lestrange had his eyes widened and lips parted, as if he had just seen an apparition and was considering running away very seriously. And Mulciber was, well, still scratching his head.
Tom's silver eyes turned to him. "Why would I do that, Avery, dear friend? Do you think that this is the right time to jest, when we are alone and defenceless, stranded in the middle of nowhere? Surely, you know me better than that."
Avery pressed his lips shut.
This was bad.
"This is insane!" Malfoy cried out, thumping the ground. "Look, Tom, we all agree that you are really gifted and powerful and the heir of Slytherin and whatnot, but this is madness. Even to consider such a thing is crazy! It's Grindelwald, for crying out loud! He is one of the darkest wizards of our age—even Dumbledore is afraid to face him and you—you-"
He didn't get the chance to finish his sentence for just then, Tom threw a silencing charm at him. Malfoy flapped his lips like a fish caught out of water and stopped struggling after a while, adequately chastised.
Avery couldn't help but smile a little, despite the dreadful feeling that had settled down in his chest.
"Thank you for your opinion, Abraxas," Tom said. "I have taken note of it and you will shut up now. And as far as your doubts are concerned, I know exactly who and what Grindelwald is. Do you deem me so ignorant as to jump into battle without acquiring adequate knowledge of my enemy and his weaknesses? Let me assure, for once and all, that I have considered all the options, trappings, and failures and only after careful analysis have I bared my intentions to you. I will take off the silencing charm now, but if you speak out of turn once again, I will rip out your tongue. Am I understood?"
Malfoy nodded vehemently.
No one spoke for a long time after this threat.
A long way off, a wolf howled. Coupled with the conspiracy talks, and the general forlornness of the forest, Avery found himself shuddering at every faint noise and shadow.
And despite Tom's warnings, he couldn't hold his tongue. Not this time.
"But Tom," he said carefully. "Why this sudden change of plans? Weren't we supposed to head back to Hogwarts after you were done with Gregorovitch? And what about Hogwarts? Besides, I hate to agree with Malfoy but this is Grindelwald—he has an army larger than that of seven nations combined... He has knowledge, power, resources—everything at his disposal—how could we, a group of five boys, expect to challenge his might? And to what end?"
Tom said nothing but looked at each of their faces—and a slight red streak flashed in his eyes, a spot of scarlet against the shining silver and apprehension crossed Avery's mind. He was far too familiar with Tom's violent flashes—he had mastered the art of reading his moods, at least when he wasn't trying to hide them, and this little sprinkle of scarlet in his eyes was always bad news.
"I see," Tom said after a while, twirling his wand casually. "Don't cringe like a pathetic girl, Avery—I am not going to attack you for having doubts—it is better if misgivings are acknowledged and resolved at the start, before they become a festering wound in our side and cost us dearly."
Avery drew a long breath of relief.
Whatever his plans may be, at least Tom was thinking clearly.
"This is going to be a long night," Tom mumbled to himself, looking at the sky, and then turned his grey gaze upon everyone. "First things first then—your doubts, queries and whims—I will entertain them only this one time so choose your questions carefully."
A short gust of carried parched leaves to Avery's feet and he almost jump.
Gods, what was the matter with him?
Malfoy raised his hand hesitantly.
"Why do you want to take on the likes of Grindelwald? That was never the plan. It wasn't even—"
Tom put up a hand before Malfoy finished his sentence.
"I have my reasons and they don't concern you, Malfoy, or any of you. In fact, your only concern should be that you, Abraxas, might be the weakest link in this chain of command and that you should try to enhance your skills at both duelling, and defending."
Avery looked at Tom for a long time. There was something going on there—something more sinister and darker than he could think or imagine and it wouldn't end well or them either way.
And Malfoy's question was reasonable.
Why Grindelwald?
They weren't even out of school yet.
"I have another," he said finally, after much thought. "And I think I mentioned it before—I don't think we are capable enough to take on someone in his position and power—I have heard stories, firsthand accounts of what he's capable of and we simply do not have that kind of strength or technique. This will be a suicide mission—brave but suicidal, something that only Gryffindors could countenance. Besides, what is to be gained from it all?"
Tom tilted his head.
"What is to be gained from it all, you ask? Glory, power, wealth? I hope they still mean something to you," he said. "No, I understand your concerns, Avery—and I will answer your question. I have given this much consideration—a dictator's realm in like a house of cards—you take away a single card at the base that supports the entire structure and the house falls down, scattered and ... Grindelwald's empire is something in the same vein—we don't take on the might of his empire—rather, we shall target the man at the head. Once he is dealt with, everything else should be smooth sailing."
Oh my God.
He really believed it. Avery could see it in Tom's eyes. He really believed it all.
"What about school? N.E.W.T.s? Dumbledore? And isn't this all too soon? Didn't you once say that it would take years for us to master the Dark Arts, and that nothing else could be planned before then?"
He put up another flimsy argument, even when he was quite convinced that Tom could no longer be swayed from his path anymore than the earth could stop revolving around the sun.
They couldn't do what Tom proposed. It would be suicide.
"I did. I recall my own words perfectly, Jonathan," Tom yawned lightly and grinned like a Cheshire cat in the darkness. "But I had not foreseen the culmination of certain events that would lead us here—it is too bright an opportunity to be foregone, and think, just consider what it would mean for everyone? We will have an empire to our name, all the coffers of Grindelwald will be thrown open at our feet—is there a greater reward? And yes, I have gained access to knowledge that will make all of this possible, every bit of it—and I ask only for your support. Besides, what does it matter if we fail or pass N.E. ? What are they, in front of the rich opulence of a ravaged empire at our feet?"
"They'll come looking for us—Dumbledore will make enquiries and he's a nuisance," Abraxas said in a small voice.
"I have considered that too, Abraxas. Rest assured that before midnight tomorrow, he will have no cause or sanction for an official enquiry. Lestrange will see to that, won't you?" Tom's eyes flicked towards the boy. "You have been rather quiet here—is there something you'd like to add?"
Lestrange bit his lip. Avery had never liked him much—he was slippery and cunning but Tom had always insisted that he had his uses… But tonight, even Lestrange was out of his element. He was pale and the wide-eyed look he threw at Tom was quite in consensus with how Avery felt inside.
Trapped and afraid.
"Just one—where do we stay whilst you plan and strategise?" Lestrange managed to croak out—his voice rather high pitched. "Not the forest, surely? And how long would you like for us all to be exempted from attending school? I will need a means to contact—my source that can arrange this for us."
"Four months should be enough—say till the end of January?" Tom furrowed his brows and sighed. "And as far as staying is concerned, Leann's father has property close to Spreewald, doesn't he?"
He looked at Lestrange for confirmation who nodded his head slowly.
Avery sympathised with him today.
"It is secret kept, I presume?"
"Yes."
"Perfect." Tom smiled and clapped his hands together. "Arrange for the secret-keeper to meet us, each one of us, close to a landmark in Spreewald. You can send the messages when we arrive at our next stop. This concludes our night, my faithful friends and we should rest while we can."
She was shaken awake by the sounds of someone whispering.
"Hermione, are you awake?"
It was Tom.
She opened her eyes and found the world around her black.
She shivered in the thinly spread moonlight, barely grazing the ground under the thick canopied trees.
"Well, you did just wake me up. What—happened?"
"I just figured out something—your back still hurts, right?"
She twisted her shoulder blades and hissed.
"Yes. Why?"
He pushed something into her palm, something cold and—smooth.
She was surprised when she recognised the objects.
"I thought I had lost them forever when—" She felt the Arithmancy cubes in her hand. "How did you—"
She could barely see him.
He was this blurry, dark shadow against the grey sky.
She wondered what time it was.
"They fell close to you on the ground, back in the village—I would have missed them otherwise and that would have been a sore loss."
Indeed.
She closed her eyes once more, keenly aware of the Goosebumps rising up her skin—her heart beat faster than before and he was close, so close and she could hear him breathe—it was all so strange.
"I hope you didn't wake me up at midnight to say just this-"
She felt him smirk.
She rolled her eyes at him in the dark.
"No." His voice was soft—it had this dark, rich, velvety texture which people associate with luxury and wealth and she was surprised that she had never noticed it before. "I told you that I figured out something, didn't I? Well, here's the thing—I want you to hold them close to your body when you sleep—I think that they might able to heal you better than any doctor."
"That's ridiculous, Tom," she snapped. In the dark, it felt like she was talking to herself—or a personal demon—and either way wasn't good. "I have to see a doctor as soon as possible."
"Just—trust me on this, please," he coaxed. "And anyway, you only have to wait till morning. If it doesn't work, I will gladly take you to the nearest village and we'll see what can be done, yes?"
She didn't see any harm in that. "Sure. And now, I really need to sleep—so go away."
He chuckled lightly and it sounded like a million pieces of ice falling down on bare glass.
Again, he pressed her wrist and the small tingle of warmth made her shiver.
"Alright. Take care."
She woke up with a start.
The tree overhead was whistling softly and fresh sunlight was beginning to creep through the gaps in leaves. She looked around and found that their small camp was awake. Tom sat close to a boulder and was deep in discussion with Abraxas who looked rather—jittery. Avery lay on his blanket, looking up at the sky and a deep frown marred his brow.
She wondered what he was thinking.
Quite suddenly, something flew out of the tree overhead and landed on her stomach. She jumped up in surprise, and the commotion drew the attention of everyone.
"Eeeee….!" She yelped and took a few steps sideways.
"It's just a squirrel, Hermione. Relax, alright," Avery said without even turning his head and she frowned.
Oh.
And immediately, her eyes went to the scattered cubes that she had held onto last night whilst she slept.
She was breathing regularly. And there was no pain in her back.
How was this possible?
She touched her shoulder absently and her eyes went to Tom.
He was staring at her, a small smile playing on his lips while he listened to Malfoy. He raised an eyebrow in question—as if to ask if she was okay—and she nodded, feeling quite dazed.
"You seem better than yesterday," Avery commented and sat up. "Feeling alright?"
"Yes, quite. Thank you," she said and tied her hair behind her in a ponytail. "Where's everyone else?"
"Lestrange and Mulciber? They went to fetch water from a nearby stream."
"Oh."
She looked around and as far as she could see, the forest was the definition of sameness.
Everywhere she looked, there were trees, birds and stones.
And Tom was still speaking with Abraxas.
"Are you hungry?" Avery asked, fumbling with his backpack. "I have got only the things that we found onboard—dried dates, salted meats, pickles and stuff. And some bread too."
"No, thanks, that's alright—" Her eyes went to Tom again. "Aren't we moving soon?"
Avery shrugged and glanced at Tom and Abraxas. "I don't think we are, not today. We're all a little tired and weary and this spot is as good as any to rest, I suppose. Besides, our next stop lies north—a small village that we mustn't visit unless we're up to our full strength, what with hostile territories and populations all around us."
That made sense.
Okay.
She bit her lip.
How was it possible for her back to have healed completely? It wasn't natural. It wasn't.
"You look perplexed," the boys said after watching her for a while and Hermione was surprised at the perceptiveness of his observations.
"It's nothing," she said, running a hand through the tangle mess of her hair. "I think I'll go freshen up—somewhere."
And she left with those words, quite aware of the fact that a pair of eyes watched her back.
The day passed casually with everyone simply content to lie around and do nothing. The weather was pleasant enough and Hermione was grateful that they hadn't moved for the day. They ate salted meat and bread for lunch, followed by an enthusiastic siesta where she was kept awake by the loud noises of Mulciber snoring.
Tom had stayed away from them mostly, satisfied with his musings, and even when Hermione had joined him in the act, he had kept silent.
Evening came along quickly and before she knew it, dinner was done and Lestrange and Malfoy had managed to create a lovely bonfire around which they all sat lazily, enjoying the night and its many cadences as if they weren't out in the middle of nowhere in a foreign country and were simply camping in the woods.
She certainly thought of it as such, even if it was only for a day, and found herself happier for the thought.
The boys were quarrelling over some Quidditch team, getting rather passionate every now and then, while Tom watched them from distance, sitting relaxed against a large tree.
"Alright, Alright—I get it, Avery—You like the Chudley Cannons. Just don't murder me for having a different favourite," Malfoy said loudly and raised his hands. Avery, who had been about to box his ears for some cause that Hermione thought might be justified, dropped to the ground and wiped some sweat off his brow.
"I have an idea—why don't we not discuss this anymore and I'll let you live," he shot at Malfoy who had ducked away by then. Abraxas gave him thumbs up. "Besides, all this arguing has given me a headache. Can we discuss something more pleasant?"
"Quidditch is pleasant. It isn't Abraxas's fault that you cannot digest difference in opinion,"" Lestrange said, playing with a few stones on the ground.
Avery crossed his arms and Hermione turned to Tom. "What's your favourite team?"
Someone sniggered close to her.
"Tom doesn't like Quidditch," Abraxas said, sliding down further on the ground. "It is probably one of the only few things that he isn't good at."
Tom merely shrugged.
"Oh yes, I remember. Quick, ask him about the most humiliating memory in his life," said Avery.
Hermione turned to Tom with raised eyebrows. He, in turn, glared at Avery.
"Leave me out of your inane discussions," he snapped.
Malfoy chuckled once again. "Aww, why so shy, Tom? All of us are friends here—"
"—and even if he won't tell you, I think I can. I remember the story as if it was yesterday. It was our first year, you see, and we were all lined up for Quidditch lessons. Now we were suppose to summon the broomsticks into our palms right—standard learning procedure. Tom tried it a few times and failed. His broomstick simply jumped away from him. Which made him try harder and the broomstick jumped farther. So in the end, he got so annoyed that he cursed it."
Avery gave a short laugh at this.
"He what? He cursed a broomstick?" Hermione looked at him in amusement. His face was turned into a deep scowl as he glared at the bonfire. "How does that even work?"
"Oh it was nothing serious or anything," said Avery. "He simply set the broomstick on fire and everyone kind of jumped out of his way. Mr. Simmons, the teacher, was quite mad as he handed Tom a detention—his first and last, I believe. And so, from that day onwards, Tom never laid a hand on any broomstick if he could help it. He even failed at flying lessons but the rest of his grades made up for it."
Everyone chuckled at the memory except Tom. He glared at Malfoy.
"Well, if you're quite done laughing at my expense, I would like to sit back and relax in silence."
He sounded positively miffed, what with a hint of red tingeing his cheeks and Hermione found it quite endearing.
"I have an idea," Lestrange said after a long while. "It's a lovely night and we have our bonfire—why don't you play your mouth organ, Tom. It's been a long time since we listened to one of your melodies."
"You know how to play a mouth organ?" Hermione asked him in surprise.
He nodded casually and went to retrieve his musical instrument that she hadn't known he carried with him everywhere. Of course, everyone began chattering amongst themselves as soon as he left and she followed him to where their back packs and supplies lay.
The camp fire was bright and loud—Hermione feared that someone would catch sight of it and they would come back. Those men with black coats and embedded Deathly Hallows symbols...
She pushed away the memory. They were having such a pleasant time. She couldn't ruin it with—no.
"Don't you think this is too—noticeable?" she voiced her fears to Tom who sat close to her, rubbing a rough piece of cloth on his mouth organ. "I mean—we are fleeing from pursuit, aren't we? And incidentally, when are we going back? Where is the portkey located?"
He didn't even turn his head. He simply blew away some dust off the red painted metal and settled down comfortably in the crook of the tree.
"We've cast powerful obfuscating charms around this grove," he said to her. "Don't worry—we're quite safe here. And an active alarm will let us know about any one approaching from miles off. Alright everyone, be quiet now!"
The last sentence was loud and addressed to his fellow schoolmates. Everyone shut up and turned to him.
When he was satisfied that he had all the attention he wanted, he began to play.
It was such a sweet melody, carried along with the soft wind and intertwined around her and everyone, and Hermione held her breath while she listened.
She could only look at his face while he played it. It shone like something hallowed and pure—utterly in contrast with his life and actions and she had to avert her eyes away from his face at the end of two minute's straight staring.
Was it possible to get intoxicated on someone else's beauty?
And still he played.
His music was melancholy and sweet—it reminded her of endless nights of waiting and a foundering love, the storming of castles and marches of victory, tenderness of silences and utterances of promise—it was both a celebration and a lament and she sat hypnotised.
"Would you like to dance?"
Abraxas had materialised out of nowhere.
For the briefest moment, she sneaked a look at Tom's closed eyes as he sat lost, enjoying his own creation.
"Sure, but only as long as you don't step on my feet."
Malfoy chuckled at her remark and led her quite close to the bonfire. The spilling warmth made her shoulders sag in comfort and she closed her eyes as she put her hand in his.
They went around the fire in circles, laughing merrily, their woes forgotten in the night—like they had been burned to ashes by the lovely, exhilarating fire—she tripped once but Malfoy caught her by the waist and she almost blushed. Despite his injured arm, he was managing quite well.
"You are quite terrible at this," he commented, clicking his tongue.
"Well, no more than you."
"Me? I have been trained by the finest teachers in the art of ballroom dancing—you know, so it is quite understandable that I am not very good at his campfire dancing."
She chuckled.
"Oh, please. You do not have a single flexible bone in your body."
They were facing each other now. The other boys lay on their backs, listening to Tom play and were quite uninterested in anything else.
"Oh, and you do?" He was quite close to her this time, closer than she was comfortable, and she took a step back.
Abraxas raised his eyebrow at that. "Squeamish that you might be proved wrong?"
"Hell, no," she retorted, crossing her arms. "In fact, let's prove you wrong."
And with that, she took hold of his hand while he jerked hers at the same time—a moment later, they both collided against each other and Hermione was quite aware of the fact that there was no distance between them.
In fact, and largely due to their mutual astonishment, they both stood rooted to the spot—hands holding hands and one of his arms encircling her waist while she was keenly observant of the fact that his chest was pressed against his.
She blinked.
And just then, the music stopped. It took a few seconds for her to register that Tom had stopped playing.
Immediately, she shook her head and jerked away from him, looking at Tom in confusion.
He had discarded the mouth organ on the ground and even though his face was unreadable, she sensed a small streak of scarlet flash in his eyes.
"It's time to turn in," he said quietly, his eyes lingering on her face for a little longer than necessary. "We have to be up at the crack of dawn and I would rather not deal with tardiness again."
Afterwards, when she lay down on the small blanket that was to be her bed, by Tom's side, she stared at the night sky and its stars for a long, long time.
"What are you looking at?"
"Constellations," she whispered. Everyone else slept some way off and only Tom was close to her—in fact, they shared a tree. "Aren't they lovely? The Orion and Cassiopeia—so bright and wonderfully constant—"
He made a non-committal sound and she turned her head towards him. From this distance, she could touch his nose. His face was half hidden in shadows, where it lay close to the ground, and the other half glowed in the dying embers of the bonfire.
"I didn't know you could play the mouth organ so well."
"There are many things you don't know about me."
"Yes."
They stayed quiet for a while but Hermione knew that he wasn't asleep.
She had noticed something in his eyes—right after he had stopped playing and she had stepped away from Malfoy—something dark and red—it was a fierce something that she couldn't name and she shuddered at the memory.
But then again, judging by the serene look on his pale face right now, she could have imagined it.
Darkness played tricks with one's mind. Maybe she had been another victim.
"Hermione?"
"Hmm?"
"I appreciate that you're trying to socialise with my friends—but don't forget what I told you before."
"What do you mean?"
"Malfoy—he's like this, okay—he's had too much privilege and too little challenge and everywhere he goes, everything is another fancy to him, something to while away time. Especially girls."
Her heartbeat stopped.
"What do you mean?"
Out of nowhere, she found his long fingers interlacing themselves with hers.
"You know exactly what I mean."
She took a deep breath.
Maybe she was wrong.
Maybe he was just concerned as a friend.
Maybe.
Abraxas was perched on a rocky outcrop while he watched the others break camp. He had been packed and ready to leave as soon as he woke up but others had been less—quick.
He watched as Tom sat with Hermione, eating dried berries as he talked with her.
"I will need your assistance, Abraxas," Tom had said the previous day. "Out of everyone present here, you know that you're the only one I can trust completely. Especially on a dangerous mission such as this."
"We don't have to do this right now, Tom," he had implored quietly. "Let's just go back as planned. You got what you came for and I and the boys have had enough adventure to last us a long time. It could all turn disastrous for us and I—"
"It won't," Tom had insisted. "Have faith, Abraxas—I am a lot of things but never a fool."
Abraxas watched the two of them laugh at something.
How did she fit into this new mission that Tom had seen fit to undertake?
"I want you to watch Lestrange for me, Abraxas—closely, if you must," Tom had said.
"Why? Is there a problem? Do you suspect something?"
Tom's eyes had turned sharp at his words.
"I suspect a lot of things, yes, but nothing that I can be sure of. Just take my advice and watch him, alright."
There was something wrong there.
Tom and the girl—they didn't have what you'd call a normal, healthy friendship, assuming it was possible for girls and boys to be just friends.
And Abraxas had caught a glimpse of it the previous night. He had seen it in Tom's eyes—that violent red streak of rage and control, a sort of hidden madness, in Tom's eyes when he had danced with Hermione.
He wondered at the speed at which his life had taken a downturn and he was frightened to the core. And even though he had no option but to follow Tom's commands, he couldn't drown his fears and apprehensions.
"What about Hermione? Won't she be in the way, if you plan to really do this?" Abraxas had mentioned. "She's just a girl."
"She's my problem, not yours," Tom had snapped. "You deal with the task that is given to you and think about nothing else."
And she had healed.
She had healed spectacularly. Judging from her fluid movements, it didn't seem like there was a single broken bone in her body.
It simply wasn't possible.
Perhaps Tom had helped her.
But he didn't have that skill.
He didn't.
And Abraxas was quite annoyed at having to lug around his broken arm while she was perfectly well. It just wasn't fair.
"We're really going to do this, then?" His voice had shaken, despite his best efforts.
"Yes, we are. And at the end of all this, you will thank me, Abraxas."
"I doubt it."
Tom had smiled patronisingly, patting him on the back.
"Have faith, Abraxas—it will work out just fine."
Faith.
They were ready to move.
He couldn't help but notice that Tom walked closer to Hermione than anyone else.
He jumped off the rocky perch and shouldered his bag.
Have faith, he says. Faith will get me killed. Just you wait and watch.
please review... I didnt feel too confident about this chapter..