Bad Romance
Author's Note: I meant to have this up last night, but instead, I went out to a bar-crawl. In retrospect, Monday night was a bad night to do this. Also, I start this chapter when they're still in Honeydukes, because I forgot to add some dialogue from the last chapter.
And when I finished writing this chapter, I literally squealed out loud. Hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it :)
Chapter Twenty One: Hallow's Eve
Hermione could not believe that Alphard was giving her the cold shoulder. Across Honeydukes, she repeatedly tried to catch his attention, but he was ignoring her so skillfully it was like it was his occupation. Rupert had finally recovered from his shock and was grinning.
"You should have seen Hyacinth Parkinson's face. If looks could kill..." he shook his head. Hermione glowered and spared a glance back at the Slytherins. They were leaving; Alphard looked straight ahead as he stormed out of Honeydukes. Behind him, Tom sauntered out, leading his crowd, but just as he was passing over the threshold looked back at Hermione. His typical sly, wicked grin was playing across his lips and he winked at her before pushing the door open. Hermione felt like she had been filled with rabid butterflies. She pressed a hand to her stomach to quell the surge of nerves and turned back to the Gryffindor boys, exhaling hotly.
"Do you think he was trying to upset Alphard?" she wondered aloud after they had paid for their candy and were making their way to the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer. Geoffrey burst into rather callous laughter. They had reached the Three Broomsticks. When he opened the door, a blast of warmth fell over their faces, and eagerly the trio trooped into the packed pub.
"Do you think?" his voice dripped with sarcasm. "If my girlfriend had been fed chocolate by Tom Riddle, I'd be pretty upset too."
"You can even identify with Black for once, Geoff. Minerva fancied Tom like mad. Even if she did get with you, I reckon she'd still carry a torch for Riddle," Rupert pointed out, still laughing a bit. After this, Geoffrey seemed quite sulky, and didn't speak to Rupert until well after they had paid for their butterbeers and sat down.
"What's going on with you and Black, anyway?" Geoffrey asked rather gruffly. Hermione got the impression he was feeling embarrassed at having acted sulky. She shrugged.
"I thought we were dating? But now who knows."
"You know...you might not want to hear this, Hermione..." Rupert began hesitantly. His ears were turning pink. "...but I think, to the rest of the world, it looks more like you and Tom are dating."
Hermione choked on her butterbeer; Geoffrey handed her a napkin rather tactfully.
"Me and Riddle? No way," she sputtered, feeling her face and neck grow warm. Rupert shrugged; Geoffrey was eyeing her shrewdly. He didn't make any remarks, for once, but just watched her carefully as Rupert continued.
"I mean, you guys always have this sexually charged banter during classes. Everyone knows how he interrupted you and Black after Slughorn's party-"
"That didn't happen," Hermione interrupted in a hiss. Rupert frowned.
"Well...what did happen, then?"
"Alphard and I were having a discussion, and Riddle came looking for Alphard, because he wanted him to be there while they confronted that guy Crabbe about something," Hermione said matter-of-factly, fidgeting with the napkin sodden with butterbeer. Geoffrey snorted.
"They were confronting Bradwicke Crabbe?" he sneered. "Whatever for? Talking to that guy is like trying to have a conversation with a brick wall."
"Sounds like a lousy excuse to me," Rupert said loftily. "I'm beginning to think that Riddle doesn't like you and Alphard being together."
"But that makes absolutely no sense!" Hermione exploded. "Why me? I'm just an awkward, bookish Gryffindor. I don't even have a respectable heritage!"
"I was thinking the same thing," Geoffrey agreed heartily. Hermione shot him a nasty glare, to which he responded with a cheesy grin and a thumbs-up. It was so rare to see Geoffrey with a smile on his face, even a fake one, that Hermione was momentarily taken aback by how much he suddenly resembled Harry. She shook her head and the moment passed once Geoffrey's grin had faded.
Their bellies warmed by several butterbeers an hour later, Hermione followed the boys out of the cozy pub. On their way back to the castle, the boys were dragged to the Quidditch pitch by several fellow Gryffindors looking for a pick-up game, and Geoffrey forced Hermione to sit in the stands and "act like a proper Gryffindor." Wishing she had her scarf and a book, Hermione perched in the blustery stands, watching Rupert fumble much as Ron usually did in Quidditch. Geoffrey was much more daring and playful now than during a match, and took every opportunity to swoop up or down and catch the Quaffle. Hermione missed Harry and Ron so much at this moment, watching the boys play Quidditch, that her eyes began to burn with tears. She did not cry, but the urge to do so was nearly overpowering. She busied herself instead with shouting encouraging cheers for Rupert, who clearly needed any help he could get. His lanky frame was not ideal for Quidditch, apparently.
"Aww, they have their own little cheerleader," someone said acidly from behind Hermione. She glanced behind her, startled, and saw Alphard with his hands shoved in the pockets of his Quidditch uniform. His expression was venomous.
"If you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all," Hermione said, hating how her voice sounded so high and quavery. Alphard smirked and sat down heavily next to her.
"I was merely congratulating the Gryffindor team on their new cheerleader," he sneered. "Though I wouldn't hedge my bets on you; you might just turn around and cheer for another team."
"Alphard, I don't know why Tom did that in Honeydukes," Hermione said waspishly, staring resolutely up at the Quidditch game.
"You could have stopped him!"
"I tried to, and then it was over and he walked away. I have no idea why he did that, but you should be taking issue with him, not me. You're acting like a prat!" Hermione's cheeks warmed with anger. She chanced a glance at Alphard. He was glowering at the pitch rather darkly.
"You refuse to have any kind of physical relationship with me, but then you go and let Riddle feed you chocolate."
"Any kind of physical relationship?" Hermione cried, filled with outrage. "What do you call what we did by the lake?" She blinked back hot tears. Alphard scoffed, still looking out at the field.
"I had graduated from that kind of play by the time I was fifteen, Hermione," he sneered. "That's childish, immature stuff—and it's not real."
Hermione could not even form words she was so angry and hurt. She stood up suddenly, her fists clenched but trembling.
"It's real to me," she said hotly. Alphard seemed surprised by her reaction and was staring up at her a bit nervously. "But if it's nothing important to you, you can just forget ever talking to me ever again. I was very forgiving of you, especially after you showed such insensitivity towards my feelings and situation. But this is just ridiculous!"
"Hermione—"
Hermione did not listen to what Alphard was about to say. She turned on her heel and stormed down the rickety stairs that led up to the Quidditch stands. She saw Tom and his gang walking back to the castle; she had so little desire to see his beautiful smirking face that, without really having any specific direction in mind, Hermione began stalking back to Hogsmeade. She heard the clatter of hurried footsteps banging down the stairs, but she ignored it, and broke into a run down the path. Other students were staring at her on their way back to the castle. She ignored them as well.
Ron would never have done something like this, she thought, and yet, that made her feel worse. Would Ron have done something like this? Would he have become frustrated if she had resisted him? Was this exclusive to Alphard, or were all boys like this?
Hermione blindly went into the Hog's Head. Aberforth was, as usual, polishing glasses with a filthy rag. Today, however, he was talking to a witch with black hair pulled into a bun; the hair was too short for the bun, and hunks of straight hair came away, giving a ragged look.
"One butterbeer, please," Hermione ordered briskly when she stepped up to the bar. The witch turned, revealing Minerva McGonagall. She was apparently irritated that Hermione had interrupted their conversation.
"H-hi," Hermione said nervously to her. McGonagall, despite being fifty years younger than Hermione knew her, was nearly as intimidating as her older self. A Ministry badge glinted on her cloak.
"Hello," she said rather shortly before turning back to Aberforth. "As I was saying, you'll want to keep an eye on them. That boy broke a window of my father's shop. I know they gather here, so let me know if things get worse."
Hermione accepted the butterbeer that Aberforth handed her, and she shelled out a few Sickles for him. Taking a seat at the bar close enough to continue eavesdropping, Hermione pretended to be very interested in the filthy grime of the bar.
"They never sound like they're doing anything wrong," Aberforth was saying gruffly. Hermione knew he was wary of her listening in. "Did you get it repaired?"
"Oh, it was a simple reparo," Minerva said matter-of-factly, giving an impatient wave of her hand. "But my father's getting a bit on in his years, and I can't stay home every night to make sure there isn't any sort of trouble."
"Minerva," Aberforth began a bit heavily. "Maybe you should let it drop about that boy."
"This has nothing to do with Tom," Minerva sputtered, her face becoming pink. A hunk of black hair escaped from her bun and fell in her face because she was shaking her head so vehemently. "I simply am concerned about my father's health—"
"If Aodhagan McGonagall can't take care of himself, I'd be very shocked," Aberforth interrupted in a quiet voice. "Your father isn't some idiot, Minerva. He can take those brats any day of the week and you know it. And next time I catch you spying on that funny Riddle boy in here, I'm kicking you out. I can't afford to have customers that don't pay."
Hermione's jaw dropped. Did Minerva have an Invisibility Cloak too? And spying on Tom Riddle?
"You're preposterous," she said heatedly. "I would never—"
"I understand," Aberforth said gently. In this moment, he seemed shockingly like his brother. "He's a handsome bloke, and he's brilliant as well. But you're not at Hogwarts anymore. It's time to move on. You've got a good job at the Ministry, and once that moron Dippet is out of Hogwarts, you ought to go back and teach."
"Don't be ridiculous," Minerva snapped. "I would make a horrible teacher."
"Up to you. At any rate, either buy a drink or get out of my pub." Aberforth's tone was rough but he seemed relatively cheerful. Minerva sighed rather irritably and left the pub with a last wave to Aberforth. When she opened the door, someone was coming in at the same time. Hermione saw her freeze as though paralyzed by a Basilisk's stare. Tom was standing on the threshold, giving her a charming and warm smile. Hermione heard Aberforth sigh heavily. Tom greeted McGonagall; she did not say anything audibly but merely mumbled and looked down at the ground before dashing out of the pub. Tom was, for once, alone. His dark eyes alighted on Hermione and he smiled even more broadly. Coming in from the chilly air, he looked magnificent. His cheeks were rosy from the cold, and his eyes were twinkling. Still, Hermione scowled at him.
"You again," she greeted as Tom slid onto the barstool next to her. He ordered a butterbeer before giving his full attention to Hermione.
"Been looking for you. Black's in a right state and won't talk to me. I hope it wasn't something I did?" Concern etched into his angelic features. Hermione scoffed and played with the condensation that had dripped off of her glass of butterbeer and onto the counter; the surface was so filthy that her fingertips came away dripping with foul greyish mud.
"You know very well what you did. You're vile," she spat. Her bad mood had returned upon seeing Riddle and it was only plummeting. This was mostly due to the fact that she was hating herself for how her stomach was filled with anxious butterflies at the sight of him and her skin became pleasantly warm. She remembered the feel of his fingertips on her lips and she pressed her mouth into a thin line, taking to glaring down into her grubby glass.
"You didn't seem too upset at the time," Tom parried in a low, barely audible voice. He leaned on the counter, his elbow nearly grazing hers.
"I was too surprised to react," Hermione retorted. She heard Tom's soft laugh; something about it felt intimate. Or maybe she was just losing her mind due to all of this absurd teenage angst. Wanting to laugh at herself, Hermione glanced at him. He was smirking at her. "What do you want?" she finally asked.
"I was worried about you," Tom said innocently, looking injured. "You just ran off alone, didn't you? That never bodes well when a girl does it."
"Sod off," she ordered before downing the rest of her butterbeer. She slammed the glass on the table before standing up. "I just wanted some time to myself, but it seems like that's impossible."
"It's dark out; of course that's impossible. I'm not about to allow a pretty girl to walk about by herself. What kind of man would I be?" He sounded so genuinely concerned, and yet... Hermione met his eyes. She tried her best to picture them as how they would look in half a century, because it made it easier to not fall for his charm.
"I'm independent," she said, and walked out of the pub, though Tom was on her heels. Indeed, night had fallen. It looked like most of the Hogwarts students had already returned to the castle.
"But it's Halloween," Tom protested, falling into stride with her. "When all of the scary monsters appear." His voice was laced with humor; reluctantly, Hermione smiled to herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tom giving her a once-over. "No wonder you had a fight with Black; you're wearing tights. Now you truly look like a nun."
Hermione glared at him; Tom merely cocked his head to the side and grinned, raising his eyebrows at her. "What? Just giving you a few helpful hints!"
Up ahead, she could see students who were also walking back. They looked back at her and Tom, and her stomach lurched. What would be the gossip around the school now? Everyone, it seemed, had seen Tom giving her the chocolate. And now they'd be seen walking back together. Hermione had a bad feeling that the fangirls were about to get even more vicious. "I'd appreciate it if you just left me alone. That'd be most helpful," Hermione said sourly, still eyeing the students further along the path. Tom followed her gaze and sighed. "Sometimes it seems like you're intentionally sabotaging what I have—er, had—with Alphard," she added.
"Of course not. You're just pinning it on me. In reality, I think you'll find that you're letting every little thing sabotage what you had with Black. Instead of greeting him normally in Honeydukes, you acted guilty...therefore revealing to him that you found what I did significant. Maybe if you hadn't acted guilty, Black would have forgotten his jealousy. You've only known him for a month and a half; you don't understand how his emotions come and go with the sun."
He was studying her carefully now. Even in the cool air, she blushed and turned further away. She drew her cloak around her shoulders tighter, less to shield herself from the cold and more to protect herself from Tom's heavy gaze.
"You're wrong," she said a bit feebly. Tom scoffed.
"No. I'm just bringing to light the truth," he said simply. "Because you're too much of a coward to accept it on your own."
"What truth?" Hermione demanded harshly. They stopped walking now; up ahead she could heard students at the Halloween Feast in the Great Hall. She wished to be in there, safe from Riddle's penetrating stare and from the uncomfortable things he was saying. The corners of his lips were beginning to curl in just the slightest hint of a smirk.
"I think, Hermione, when you see a boggart you see yourself acknowledging that you are, in fact, susceptible to the same sort of desires that every girl your age is. And that no matter how much you try to fight it, you aren't cool and driven by your staggering intellect...Deep down, you're driven above all by your own desires."
Hermione drew in a breath sharply. She picked up her foot, about to step back, but Tom leaned in, his lips nearly touching hers. "I—" she began, but stopped when it caused her lips to move against his. There was that scent of his again, so tantalizing that she felt weakened and dazed. Their lips, noses and foreheads were just barely brushing. She forgot about how chilly the night air was, she forgot about what Alphard had said...indeed, she forgot even why she had traveled back in time.
"Happy Halloween, Hermione," he murmured against her lips, before turning and walking into the Great Hall without so much as a backward glance.