Chapter 14

No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart.

- F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby -

The days following Jenny's dramatic exit were underlined by an absence of Tom. They still shared classes together, they continued to sit together, but the space between them had grown an immeasurable amount. The two refused to apologize to one another.

As the days turned into weeks, then into a month, Jenny made sure Tom's friends, or as she had taken to calling them in her head, 'minions' did not try to convince her to apologize. Lestrange only attempted to approach her once, but a well-placed glare was enough to keep him at bay. Avery tried multiple times to talk to her, and after the second bat-bogey hex, Jenny was beginning to suspect he was no longer approaching her as a 'concerned mutual friend', but rather he was being told to do it by Tom.

Slugclub meetings had gotten tense, both Jenny and Tom refused to give up the gatherings, making the tension in the room palpable and even eerie at times. It was evident the professors had begun to notice the hostility between the two, but none had set out to intervene yet. The professors' attention was limited, due to their monitoring of the sporadic attacks that Europe continued to face and contacting families on behalf of students to ensure they were okay.

As the seasons chilled from Autumn to Winter, the rage between them cooled. Neither side apologizing, but both came to an unspoken surrender. Jenny began speaking to Tom outside of the classroom again, and a sense of fragile peace settled over them.

A tightly packed snowball was pressed into the palm of Jenny's hand. She watched from around the corner of a building waiting for Tom to emerge from Dervish and Banges. He had gone in with Avery and Rosier to get some potion supplies. When she pushed for more information, Tom brushed her off, saying that it was just to practice for class. She had gone as far as to remind him that if it were for class, surely Professor Slughorn would lend him the ingredients, but he got annoyed and sent her to go 'look at clothes'. Grimacing at the memory, she decided a little payback was in order, and the fresh blanket of snow over Hogsmeade was the perfect weapon.

"What are you doing?" a voice questioned from behind her, causing the snowball to jump out of her hands.

"Oh, great," she moaned, pressing her cold fingers to her cheeks. Turning towards the offending voice, she whined, "Thanks, Lestrange."

With a low chuckle, he said, "Any time. Why are you skulking around corners though?"

"Tom's been a proper jerk, I was going to give him something to chew on," she gestured to the crumbled remnants of the ball.

"Looks like you've just lost your chance," Lestrange pointed out Tom walking from the shop carrying a small parcel, flanked by Avery and Rosier.

Shrugging, she muttered, "The humor of it would have been lost on him anyway."

"Would you like to join me in Three Broomsticks?" He asked. She stared blankly at him, with an almost puzzled expression. He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, "I just figured since your original plans got canceled," he joked, motioning to the broken snowball, "and Mulciber and I were planning on meeting there for something to drink before heading back up to the castle. If you have nothing planned, you should join us."

"Sure," she said slowly, unsure if this was some type of trap. Lestrange was always so rude and snobbish, not whatever this was.

"Alright," he rubbed his hands together for warmth and started towards the pub, leaving Jenny to trail sluggishly behind him through the thick snow.

The pub was relatively busy, but they found a table in the back corner. They order drinks while they waited for Mulciber, Lestrange went with a tea, and Jenny picked hot chocolate.

Cupping her drink in an attempt to warm her hands, Jenny broke the silence first, "So, Malfoy's still captain of the quidditch team?"

He raised a brow at her questioningly, "I think so. He's in his sixth year, so he hasn't left yet."

"I guess you'll be able to make the team in fifth year then," she teased.

He forced out a laugh, "I guess. I wasn't really planning on trying out for it again."

"Last year you were going on about how you wanted to become a professional player," she said, growing confused.

With a noncommittal shrug, he said, "Riddle told me it was a waste of time, I think he's probably right."

"Tom's a git," she said dismissively. "If you want to play, then you should." He shrugged again and sipped his tea. After a beat of quiet between them, Jenny said, "Did you at least play some over summer?"

Shaking his head, he answered, "No."

"Well, what did you do this summer? Did you go on any fancy pureblood trips with your mum and dad?" She tried again, desperately. She didn't know much about him and was quickly running out of talking points.

"Uh—" he swallowed thickly and shifted in his seat, uncomfortably. "No, my dad was pretty busy, with his Ministry work and my mum—" he paused and then flatly said, "well, my mum died this summer. Dragon Pox, nasty stuff."

Jenny stared hard at her cup, studying the rims curb and the small wisps of steam rising from the chocolate drink. She didn't know what to say. Some children would come into the orphanage with freshly dead parents, but they mostly kept to themselves until it no longer made them upset. Everyone was parentless where she came from, it wasn't a talking point. The only person she had truly grieved for was Redan, and that was fleeting and only for a single night. Her eyes rose from the drink to find Lestrange had been studying his cup as well. "That's tough," was all she could think to say. "Sorry that you lost her."

He nodded, "Thanks, I figured you would be able to relate, because, well, you know."

Her brows furrowed in thought, then it hit her, he thought they could bond over their combined losses. His mother, her family. She felt bile rise in her throat. She wasn't sure what to say again, but a bubble of anger surfaced in her stomach and popped venomously. Their situations weren't the same; he lost his mum, but she lost her mum, dad, sister, and brother. She didn't grow up knowing them, he did. Sure she knew small things that Dumbledore shared with her, her father liked Herbology and her sister liked Transfiguration; or was it that her brother liked Transfiguration? She paused, no that didn't sound right either, she thought to herself, didn't one of them like Charms? She felt as though she could vomit. She lost even what little remnants of her family she did have. The memories of even the smallest things she found out about them washed away like sidewalk chalk on a rainy day.

She was saved from saying anything back because Mulciber chose that moment to walk in, "Sorry about the delay, I bumped into Riddle and got sidetracked. Oh, you brought along Endall."

"Hi." Jenny smiled, and conversationally, she asked, "What did Tom need?"

"Nothing," he said, a little too quickly. Jenny's eyes narrowed, but for the most part, she brushed it off. "How was your summer, Endall? I barely talk to you now, since your falling out with Avery and with your constant bickering with Tom," he teased.

"I had a good summer, uneventful. I was able to do a little gardening," she shrugged. Then quickly gulped down the rest of her drink, letting the empty cup fall heavily on to the table. "I actually need to get going, I have an essay I wanted to finish up."

She pushed away from the table, quickly fleeing the pub. Only pausing to wave back in reply to Mulciber and Lestrange's goodbyes.

The snow was thick and wet, clinging to Jenny's shoes with each step. Her scarf hung loosely around her shoulders, allowing the winter air to chill her face and neck. Yanking her gloves off her hands, she unceremoniously shoved the balled up gloves in her coat pocket, leaving more of her body exposed to the weather. A shiver racked through her body for a moment before it adjusted, her legs felt numb and heavy as she trudged slowly back to the castle. The forest acted as a still backdrop, silent and unmoving. She hadn't strayed towards the Forbidden Forest since the Hippogriff incident. She hated it. She hated that Tom had acted as her protector. She hated that she had been so helpless. The desire to enter it was replaced by a burning hatred. She wished that the whole forest would just go up in flames, so she'd never have to see it again. 'Like my family,' the small, twisted thought floated through her brain, and she nearly jumped from surprise.

She came to a stop in the middle of the snowy path, she was halfway between Hogsmeade and Hogwarts. Her own thought anchoring her still in shock. The trail was empty, only the whispers of footprints in the snow indicated that she hadn't become the only person left on earth. Teardrops stung her cheeks as they streaked down, amplifying the arctic breeze. It didn't make sense, she looked down at her chapped, shaking hand as she captured one of the tears on the tip of her finger. She studied the drop with an intense level of scrutiny, as though the clear liquid had a hidden message that would be revealed given enough time. The emotion sat like a rock in her throat, uncomfortably shifting with each swallow and shallow breath she took. Throwing the scarf over her shoulder, she huffed, then clenched her hands into fists, painfully digging her nails into her palms. She shoved her fists roughly into her jacket pockets and started walking, willing whatever 'episode' she just experienced to never happen again. Tears were weak.

Once in the warm castle, she shedded her coat and scarf, then found herself seeking out Tom. He wasn't in the common room, his bedroom, or the library, she was stumped. As she walked from the library defeated, she considered seeking out Tom in the potions classroom, but quickly stubbed out that idea, knowing that regardless of what he said, whatever he was making was not something he wanted Professor Slughorn to ever know about. That was how she found herself pacing in a hallway, brainstorming where he could have vanished to. After her third, listless trek down the hall, her feet began to ache, and she played with the idea of just giving up her search and going to dinner, when she froze, a door handle catching her eye. She had passed that spot at least a dozen times going from the library to the Dungeons just that year, and she had never noticed a room before.

She opened the door, curiosity getting the better of her. The first thing that captured her eye was a large cauldron with a small flame flickering below, warming it. Pushed up against it was a long wooden desk where several ingredients were splayed and a mortar, appearing recently used, sat delicately on the edge.

"What are you doing? Come in or stay out!" A familiar, annoyed voice barked from behind the door.

She stepped in and dropped the door handle, allowing it to swing shut on its own accord, revealing Tom leaning over a large desk. A laugh bubbled from Jenny's mouth, "You have an office? I thought they only gave that to staff?" She was only joking, trying to tread lightly, not wanting to be sent away.

He did a double-take, and she was pleased to see, for once, that her presence was more commanding than his book. "Who let you in?" He demanded.

"I was under the impression you invited me in," she mocked playfully.

"I thought it was Avery or Rosier, maybe Mulciber, but definitely not you," he stood, stepping around his desk and over to the cauldron, observing the bubbling contents. "How did you find me?"

She stood beside him, staring down into the pot absentmindedly. "I have my secrets too," she answered mysteriously, but in all reality doubted she would be able to recreate whatever steps she took to make it happen. He hummed shrugging with mock disinterest, or maybe it was actual disinterest, Jenny stared at his profile, trying to read his face. Then she wondered allowed, "Why didn't you think I was Lestrange or Nott?"

"Lestrange is dreadful at potions and Nott, well, he's Nott," Tom explained with ease.

"Speaking of Lestrange," Jenny started, "his mum died. Has he mentioned that to you?"

Tom scoffed, "Yes, I suggested that you would probably sympathize more."

She was baffled as to what could have led Tom to believe this. "Why?" Was all she choked out.

"You lost your pureblood mother, he lost his pureblood mother. You could relate on a deeper level than me and my muggle mother." After a second, he added, "Also, I just didn't care."

"I had no idea what to tell him," she admitted quietly.

He shot a small smile towards her, "We're more alike than you'd like to believe."

Jenny carefully glanced over the ingredients Tom had picked up in Hogsmeade, wanting to change the topic. He had Jobberknoll Feathers, Sopophorous Beans, and some other things she couldn't name off the top of her head. In the mortar was a white, shimmering powder, her eyes narrowed, "Is that powdered moonstone?"

"That?" He asked, nonchalantly. "It is." Raising the heat on the cauldron, he walked back to his desk, taking a seat and pulling out a parchment and quill from the depths of the desk's drawer.

She thought for a moment, considering this information, then in an accusatory tone, she announced, "You're making veritaserum." Not bothering to mock either of their intelligence by asking.

"I am," he revealed carefully. His eyes were no longer on his parchment, but instead were studying her reaction.

She schooled her expression to a passive, uninterested stare, "May I ask what you would need truth serum for?"

"You may," he obliged. "Although you'll be disappointed with my answer." She watched him, and after staring each other down for a moment, he said with a delicate shrug, "You never know when you need it. It's a useful tool."

A dry laugh came in response from Jenny, "You would have a store of truth serum, 'just in case'."

"I like to be one step ahead," he disclosed with a smirk.

"I've noticed," she mumbled, wandering over to some shelves filled with various sized vials, beakers, and jars. "How did you even find a room like this? It's so -I don't know- specific."

She never did get a response, because just then the door swung open. She jumped, dropping the empty vial she had been looking at, which broke into tiny, glittering pieces of glass sprinkling across the floor.

Mulciber plowed in the room, allowing the door to slam shut behind him, then without much pause asked, "Riddle, do you have that bookcase in here right now?" Jenny wasn't even sure he had noticed her.

"Not today," Tom responded in annoyance to him.

"Not today?" Jenny asked, causing both sets of eyes to snap towards her.

"Not today," Tom confirmed. "You really don't have a clue as to where we are, do you?"

Jenny felt her cheeks heat up and quickly defended herself, "I know it's no ordinary room." She distracted herself from the embarrassment by mumbling a spell to repair the vial she had broken.

"What are you doing here, Endall? I didn't even know you knew about this place. Besides, I thought you had an essay you wanted to work on," Mulciber mentioned, eyeing her curiously.

"I had a question for Tom," she quickly lied, looking helplessly to Tom.

He shot her a look that implied she owed him an explanation, but to his credit he quickly caught on, embellishing the lie with, "She was struggling with the History of Magic essay, have you even started it?"

"No. Should I? When is it due again?" Mulciber asked.

"Tomorrow," Tom sighed in irritation. "Honestly, I'd think you'd care more for your marks."

"Bloody hell," he breathed. "I better get going. See ya, Endall. Later, Riddle."

He left, leaving Jenny and Tom alone again. "I didn't even know there was a History of Magic essay," Jenny groaned in defeat.

"There isn't," Tom chuckled. "I'm sure he'll figure that out when nobody else in the common room knows about one either."

"Oh, you shouldn't have scared him like that," she scolded halfheartedly, mostly because Tom had tricked her too.

"You forced my hand," he explained, not sounding like he had a qualm with it. "Which brings us to why you lied to poor, trusting Mulciber in the first place. I hadn't realized you were so— manipulative."

"It was silly really," she said, feeling like a child that had been caught drawing on the walls.

"I'll tell you what," Tom started with a Cheshire smile. "You tell me why you misled Mulciber, and I'll tell you about this room."

"Alright," she agreed greedily, her desire to learn some of Tom's secrets overshadowing the embarrassment. "I lied because Lestrange had me cornered in Three Broomsticks and was talking about his dead mum, then Mulciber showed up and got him off the topic, but I just felt—" the long string of words came to a pause as her brain scrambled to place a name on the emotion, "off," she finished, sounding uncertain.

Tom nodded, seeming pleased. "Now, why might that be?" He asked rhetorically, but he looked to her for an answer.

"What do you mean?" She found herself, not for the first time that year, feeling exposed. As though her inner-most thoughts were behind a transparent film, allowing them to be plucked from her mind like fresh fruit from a tree.

"Why did you feel, 'off'?" He asked. The sound of the bubbling cauldron in the corner amplified, making the room claustrophobic and uncomfortable.

"I don't know," she felt, at that moment, like the frail lady Mrs. Cole and Tom insisted she should be. She had been climbing up the mountain that was her confidence ever since the incident in the forest, and with one probing question, she had been toppled back down, her footing lost.

He hummed and tutted in disapproval. Then after a drawn-out silence, with faux disappointment, he sighed, "What a shame. I was hoping you'd be more willing to share."

"I told you the truth," she snapped, resisting the urge to stomp her foot like an insolent child. "I shared all that I can."

"This leaves us with a problem," he began, wolfishly. Stepping around his desk, he started pacing slowly in the center of the office. "There's a power imbalance now. If I were to share all that I know about this room, then you would be getting more from this exchange than I got from your half story that was filled with uncertainty," he scolded lightly.

"So you're going back on our deal," she gritted out flatly.

He shot her a blank, almost withering stare, and said, "I wasn't finished. I'm proposing, that instead, I offer you this: You can tag along with me—"

"What would that include?"

"I'm not finished," he bit, sounding more annoyed now. "You can tag along with me, but it's up to my discretion. I'll bring you places like this room, maybe even through a passageway or two."

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, stubbornly, "So, what you're saying is that nothing changes? You were using your 'discretion' before, and you never let me go anywhere with you."

"Yes, I was uncertain if you would be difficult, but from what I've seen today, you have proven that maybe you won't be as impossible as I'd thought. I can see some potential," he explained impatiently.

"Gee, really, mister? Potential in me?!" She teased sarcastically. Then bitterly pointed out, "You tend to give me a lot of backhanded compliments."

He was busying himself with the potion again, barely making any indication that he had heard her beside a quiet, "I hadn't noticed," but she would've sworn she saw a flash of a sly smirk.

AN: Sorry this one is a little shorter than normal. The next chapter has been written already and it actually makes up for the difference and then some. I think y'all are gonna like the next chapter