Bad Romance
Author's Note: Sorry this took so long. I've been having a crappy week and am looking forward to the weekend where I will be relaxing. On the bright side, it seems my diet is finally working! I went down a size in my favorite pants! (dances)
Chapter Twenty-Five: Tangled Up in Blue
The tawny owl hooted impatiently, and when Hermione shot it a glower, it let out another irritable hoot before swooping over to the window and pecking at it viciously.
"Alright, already!" Hermione said in exasperation and let it out. She turned back to the letter, which was addressed to her in overly elegant, spidery handwriting that Hermione did not recognize.
Dear Miss Macmillan,
Ever since my dear brother Geoffrey informed me of your accompanying him to the Yule Ball, I have been simply dying of curiosity, as has my mother. Little Geoffrey has described you as an extremely bright but hardly attractive girl, and my mother and I have been speculating about you for days! Please do us the enormous pleasure of meeting us in the lovely little town of Hogsmeade for a delightful lunch at the Three Broomsticks this Saturday, because I think if my curiosity about you is not satisfied soon, I might simply die! Please, please owl me your response as soon as possible; suspense is not something I do enjoy!
Yours,
Gareth Potter
Hermione blinked, overcome with shock. Wasn't his name Garret? Why did he sign it Gareth? Garret/Gareth had added flourishes that ended in large spirals to every word and had underlined every adjective several times, making the letter somewhat difficult to read. Shaking her head, Hermione got out a fresh slip of parchment and agreed to meet Garret/Gareth and his mother on Saturday. In comparison to his overly embellished letter, hers looked plain and a bit terse. With a shrug, Hermione added a little smiley face at the end of her name, but then decided the smiley face looked rather absurd. But Garret/Gareth would probably not notice anyway.
It was early yet, so Hermione left Gryffindor tower and headed to the owlery to send her letter to Geoffrey's brother. Curfew had not arrived yet, so she felt quite comfortable about strolling along the corridors. She glowered as she reflected on Geoffrey's description of her. Was she really so awful to look at? She stopped in the girls' bathroom along the way and stared at her reflection. A heart-shaped face, a wide mouth, a snub nose dusted with freckles, brown eyes, and brows that perhaps could have used some grooming stared back at her. Of course, there was the usual epic cloud of light brown frizz around her face. It wasn't anything stellar, for certain, but why was it that she had always been picked on for her looks? She cracked a forced smile, revealing her straight white teeth. Her smile became genuine when she thought of how Harry and Ron had reacted when she had realized she'd reduced the size of her front teeth. At least she wasn't buck-toothed anymore. She shuddered to think of what Geoffrey might have said if he'd seen her before fourth year.
She was average height, and since she'd been at the castle for the past few months, had returned to average weight. Everything about her body was average, save for her rather skinny ankles. But average wasn't so horrible, was it?
"You're being rather critical for no reason," she assured her reflection. There was a splash, and Moaning Myrtle rose up out of a stall and peered at her through her thick, pearly glasses.
"You're the girl that Tom Riddle likes," she greeted Hermione gloomily before sighing loudly. Hermione's cheeks flushed automatically.
"He doesn't like me," she sputtered indignantly. Myrtle rolled her eyes.
"I used to have a chance with him, you know," Myrtle said. "He still comes to talk to me. But now..."
"You're dead," Hermione thought aloud, and clapped her hand over her mouth guiltily. "Sorry! I didn't mean it like that. I just—"
"They never mean it like that. Poor Myrtle. Nobody cares! The love of my life still talks to me, but who cares, because I'm dead!" she shrieked before hurling herself back into the U-bend. Hermione rolled her eyes and jumped aside of the wave of toilet water that was expelled from the stall. She rather preferred the Moaning Myrtle of her own time. At least she was a bit clever about her doom and gloom.
She continued onto the owlery, still feeling a bit critical about her appearance. She'd always had moments like these, where she could not let go of her own insecurity. Usually she dealt with the angst by busying herself with work, but tonight the thoughts kept returning. How could Alphard possibly be attracted to someone like her? Alphard was handsome and had beautiful girls throwing themselves at him. But she was just a plain girl with bad hair and skinny ankles. Self-consciously, Hermione tugged at her sweater to stretch it out before tying her letter to one of the barn owls. It had been so nice, at the previous Yule Ball, to really surprise everyone with her new look. She'd never felt it was necessary to do every day, however, and had always scorned the girls who had bothered with such frivolity.
But at the same time... Hermione let out a sigh and rested her elbows on the railing of the owlery, staring out at the crisp late autumn night. Sometimes she wished she could have more of the confidence that other girls had. Sometimes she wished she could feel cute. She always had drawn her confidence from her intelligence and academic achievements, but just once in a while, she wished she could feel more like a typical silly girl.
"Sending owls? To whom?" She jumped, startled, and turned to see Tom picking his way across the owlery floor. He came to stand next to her and mimicked her position.
"None of your business," Hermione said automatically, shifting away from Tom slightly. He chuckled.
"Always so defensive. I was just being polite!"
They stood there in silence that was not entirely uncomfortable. Hermione still had no desire to let him fluster her, but all the same, he seemed less interested in getting a rise out of her than usual. She looked up at him; he was staring contemplatively at the golden lights of Hogsmeade village.
"You're unusually tolerable," she commented. "What happened?"
"There's the classic Hermione charm," he drawled, still staring into the distance. "I'm rather tired, actually," he confessed. "Patrols is not difficult, but Augusta always talks my ear off and I think the firsties are getting a bit too lax about following the rules." He frowned.
"I would have never thought that Tom Riddle himself could get tired," Hermione said lightly. "What does Augusta talk about?"
"Anything and everything," Tom replied, massaging the bridge of his nose. He did seem tired and lacking his usual energy. Was it all of the effort he was putting into his Horcruxes? "She ought to become a gossip columnist. I swear, if she put half the effort she gives to all of this nonsense into her spellwork, she'd be quite a formidable witch. I think she does it to impress me." His voice had gone cold and flat. It was intriguing to see Tom without as thick a curtain of his normal charm. She was getting a view of him she had never before seen.
"What else is it that's tiring you out so much?" Hermione probed, letting her gaze rest on him. She twisted her body to lean against the stone so she could more easily look at him. Tom laughed softly.
"You look exhausted yourself," he parried, his gaze meeting hers. "I know you're not always doing schoolwork when you're in the library."
"Neither are you," Hermione said immediately. "Sometimes, you're reading romance novels." She was getting nervous; was it wise to reveal that she had seen him reading Sense and Sensibility?
"Am I?" Tom asked, a smile lurking on his lips, threatening to break out. Hermione chewed on her lip before deciding to be honest.
"You were reading my favorite book one day," she said, unable to stop herself from matching his grin with her own.
"For a girly romance novel, it's quite good," he said. "Very well. You caught me. But have you guessed my favorite book yet?"
Hermione let out a sigh. "Why do you care if I guess it or not?" she queried. Tom didn't answer her question.
"I think we'll be dueling in Merrythought's class again this week," he said softly. "You'd better start studying. I'd bet you my wand she'll pair us together. I got a note from Slughorn offering to put in a good word for me with you as well."
"Why does everyone want us together?" Hermione demanded in exasperation. It was a rhetorical question; the answer lingered in the air between them as they stared at each other. For a moment, Hermione felt he might almost-kiss her again. She found herself waiting, praying for it. Her heart began to pound loudly in her ears as they moved imperceptibly closer.
A screech owl let out a shriek and consequently brought Hermione back to her senses. Abruptly she stepped back, away from Tom and his inviting dark eyes.
"Well, I suppose it's time for bed," she said, and turned to leave the owlery, but he reached out and grasped her wrist. She looked back at him questioningly, expertly hiding any hope or fear she might be feeling. "Yes? Can I help you?"
"Why won't you go to the ball with me?" The irritation was evident in his voice now; he really must have been too tired to be able to hide it. She grinned at him, and it seemed to catch him off guard.
"Because I don't want to," she said simply. He opened his mouth to speak, but she whipped out her wand and shot sparks out of the end towards him. In surprise, the Slytherin relinquished his hold on her, but his eyes never left hers.
"Don't want to?" he repeated in clear disbelief. Hermione nodded rather cheerfully and left him staring after her. When she had left the owlery, she nearly let out a whoop of delight. For once, she had surprised Tom Riddle. For the first time, she felt she had gained something like the upper hand.
"Hardly attractive?" Hermione demanded of Geoffrey the next morning at breakfast when he sat down to join them. Rupert's eyes widened as he glanced between the pair of them. Geoffrey was apparently not a morning person, for he merely stared at her stupidly before locating a goblet of coffee. "And why did you tell me your brother's name was Garret? He owled me last night, you know!"
Understanding dawned on the Seeker's face after he had gulped coffee. Rupert began chuckling, spraying globs of porridge everywhere and earning glowers of disgust from both Hermione and Geoffrey.
"Garret recently decided that Gareth suited his 'elegant' personality more, and has been refusing to answer to anything else," Geoffrey explained irritably, selecting kippers from a platter in front of him. "Why'd he owl you, anyway? And I was just being honest. My mother asked about you, so I told her about you," he added, looking at her disdainfully.
"He wants me to join you guys this weekend for lunch in Hogsmeade, actually," Hermione said after she had returned Geoffrey's look of disdain.
"You know, taking you to this stupid ball is turning out to be more trouble than it's worth. Riddle docked thirty points from Gryffindor this morning because my hair was untidy!" Geoffrey sulked. "And the Slytherins were practicing at the same time as us last night, and three separate times, Black wandered into our side of the pitch and attempted to knock me off my broom!"
"Blimey," said Rupert, shaking his head. "Have you always been this popular with boys, 'Mione?"
Hermione snorted into her orange juice.
"Not at all. And I mean, why do you think that Riddle docked points because of me? Your hair is looking messy, Geoffrey."
Geoffrey gave her a look of such withering disgust that Hermione started laughing.
"It's true though; usually Black and I are on good terms but last night on patrols he bit my head off for no reason," confided Rupert.
"If they Hex me at the ball, I'm murdering you...or rather, I'm unleashing Garret on you. Yes...much worse of a punishment..." Geoffrey's eyes turned starry as he got lost in daydreams. Hermione bristled.
"Unleash Garret on me? He seems perfectly nice!"
"That's what you think," Geoffrey said darkly. "Oh yes, he's very jovial and friendly, and can even act ditzy on occasion. But he's still an Auror...and a damn good one at that."
The boys launched into a discussion of the prior night's Quidditch match and Hermione's thoughts wandered. She felt like she was being stared at, and she was correct: across the Great Hall, Tom was staring at her, resting his chin in his hand, his fingers over his mouth as though he were lost in thought. When their eyes met, he arched an elegant eyebrow, and something in the pit of Hermione's stomach unfurled. She was proud of herself for having caught him off guard the night before, but he still held a certain power over her that worried her. She raised her brow at him as well and saw the corners of his mouth appear from behind his hand. He was grinning at her. Why was it that when he grinned, she too grinned, however involuntarily?
But next to him, she saw Hyacinth Parkinson and a few other Slytherin girls clamoring for Alphard's attention. He said something, and accordingly they all shrieked with hysterical laughter. Hermione's expression darkened. He's not that funny, she thought unkindly. Her eyes returned to Tom. She knew he had seen her distress at Alphard's female attention. She resented him for it; she was embarrassed that she was feeling jealous, especially of Hyacinth Parkinson. Gathering her wits about her again and shaking off the lingering jealousy, Hermione excused herself and decided to, as usual, go to the library before class.
She didn't have a real purpose for being there, but she had had no desire to be confronted with Alphard's popularity any longer. Hermione strolled along the shelves, looking for 'light reading' but not really looking too thoroughly. I suppose this is how Alphard felt when he saw Tom giving me that chocolate, she thought guiltily. She selected a book at random from a shelf and began listlessly flicking through the pages.
Something hard and pointed came in contact with her spine and ran down the length of it slowly. Hermione's muscles tensed; she knew Tom was just trying to startle her.
"Good morning, Tom," she said dryly, slamming the book shut and looking back at him. He grinned and leaned against the bookcases.
"Don't tell me you're upset, Hermione," he chided. "After all, he was only talking to Hyacinth. There's nothing wrong with talking."
"I'm not upset at all," she said coolly. "But I have work to do, so if you would be so kind as to—" she halted when Tom swiped the book from her hands and read the cover with his brows arched in disdain.
"Saucy Tricks for Tricky Sorts?" he asked with a laugh. "I suppose you're saucy." He set the book back on the shelf and winked at her. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest.
"I was curious!"
"Or, you were so distracted by your emotional distress that you picked a random book so that you'd look like you were perfectly fine," he said, smirking and leaning in closer. Hermione reached out to push him away and he gripped her wrists. "So, since Black's now got a date, you don't have to worry anymore and you may simply go with me."
"I told you, I don't want to," she snapped, trying to tug away. He gripped her wrists harder, laughing at her efforts rather disparagingly.
"I find that when you lie, Hermione, you refuse to look me in the eyes and your cheeks become that delectable pink that I so enjoy."
"I find that you're an arse," she said tartly. Tom was laughing again; Hermione tugged more and in their struggle the pair smacked into a bookshelf, knocking over several books and knocking them to the ground. Hermione let out a squeak of pain as Riddle's lean torso smacked into hers. They were a tangle of arms and legs, their faces inches apart. Hermione tried to push him away but he just laughed.
"Good job, my darling," he said sarcastically. Hermione despised herself more than she ever had, for all her brain was capable of was relishing the feel of how hard his chest was, how nice his svelte shoulders felt under her hands, how good he smelled. This close, she could get lost in his eyes...
They froze when they both heard a voice.
"Well...this is interesting, isn't it?"