Chapter Twenty-five:
Summer of Silence

As Tom had predicted, final examinations proved to be of little difficulty, though all around us, we watched our peers struggle. The awe and respect I had, for a small time, been granted was soon replaced by bitterness for the seemingly effortless way in which I conducted my performance for each class. Years ago, however, I had learned to pay them no heed, and so it bothered me not. They were of a superficial kind, full of adoration at one moment, and the next, bubbling with contempt–or so it was that I experienced. The darkly handsome Tom Riddle still captured their fancy, blind to the fact that he possessed faults–not, however, that he allowed anyone but I to see them. And thus, the only fault they found in him was me.

Still, we pleasured ourselves to midnight rendezvous and meetings behind the furthermost bookshelves in the library. His somewhat different behavior had not yet faltered, and for this I was glad. At times, I excused it as a permanent change in character brought on by some mysterious revelation he had had. Yet at others, for perhaps mere seconds, I could sense something amiss–a quick glance into his eyes revealed a fleeting lack of warmth or steely glint. In my own naive mind, I thought of these as nothing, and soon forgot of them entirely.

When the days grew longer, and were filled with such an unwavering heat that it was impossible to endure more than an hour exposed to the sun, we spent our final weeks of the year beneath the tree beside the lake. There, the thickly-leaved branches provided a coolness which could not be found in any other place. The bark had been worn smooth by the many times we had leaned against it, and the trunk seemed to be molded perfectly to fit our backs. It was a place of our own in which we could do naught but enjoy the company of one another.

-

I rested my chin upon Tom's shoulder one afternoon as I always did, glancing at the text of the book which he held in his lap. Occasionally he ran his fingers along the weathered edges of the page as an unconscious habit. No doubt he could feel me smile against him as I watched him do this. At times, I had a book of my own; indeed, that dare was a rare which I did not.

After several minutes of this, he closed the book, leaving his thumbs in the center to mark his place. I slid my chin from his shoulder and brushed against his arm, moving forward upon the coarse grass until I faced him.

"You are restless today, Danielle," he noted, touching my cheek briefly with his free hand. Though it lasted but for a short time, I felt myself melting into it. Somehow, he had the ability to, in the blinking of an eye, send me into utter contentment.

"I have been thinking," I confessed, "and the topic is one that cannot render me motionless."

"Oh?" he inquired, amused. "And what topic is this that even you cannot concentrate long enough to read?"

I flushed. "Why, you and I, of course."

He did not seem surprised, though I supposed my mind had become entirely too predictable to him then. Though our marriage was to be a year from then, I could not help but think of it. Perhaps the summer air and Tom's visit with Mr. Burke had started these thoughts, snapping me into the reality of the fact that I would be a wife, and Tom my husband. At times, I wondered if I could stand the wait.

Tom looked thoughtful. "But of course," he mused with a small smile.

"Tom, where are we to live? After we are married, I mean."

"I expect we shall purchase a flat in the beginning, shall we not? But the time is long before that will come."

I nodded, muttering agreement. "And this summer?" I asked at length, switching topics to dissolve the silence which had formed around us. "Are we to be at the orphanage?"

"I am afraid so," he replied. "Dippet came to me this morning. He cannot allow us to remain here, for reasons which he would not state. We shall have to endure the Madam one more time."

I grinned. "I suppose we shall manage."

I slipped my hand into his, and this time, we fell into a comfortable quiet, listening to the water gently lapping in waves against the soft bank before us. The afternoon sun glinted upon the surface of the lake, beneath which, it gently rippled, hinting of some creature's passing by. There was no wind that day to stir the thick air, and I was thankful for the shade that the tree provided us. Even so, small strands of hair clung upon the dampness of my skin, plastering them along the line of my jaw. I brushed at them irritably, yet they seemed always to remain there.

Suddenly, I pulled the shoes and stockings from my feet, momentarily resting them upon the cool grass. Then I stood, my hand escaping Tom's, and I walked to the water's edge.

"What are you doing?" he asked incredulously, though it seemed he knew precisely the course of action I was about to take. I looked back at him, an even wider beam gracing my lips, and gingerly I sank my foot into the chilled water, gasping at the extremity of the temperature difference.

"I-it is really quite lovely," I shivered, suddenly unsure. Later, I came to think of it as the summer air ensnaring my mind into the foolish, giddy state it had then entered, though at the time–as I had many times before–thought nothing of it.

I took yet another step, until my ankle was encircled in a cool ring of liquid. It tickled my skin pleasantly, and slowly I began to grow used to the sensation. I turned to call to Tom, yet in an instant, I felt myself plunging forward. I grasped wildly at the air in an attempt to regain my balance, shrieking in fright. Regardless of this, the muddy waters of the lake soon engulfed my face, and moments later, I emerged. My mouth still was shaped in an expression of shock, and my hair dripped in curling lengths upon my already sodden robes.

"Thomas–Marvolo–Riddle," I sputtered, for instantly I knew it was he who had caused my fall. Though he had not moved from whence I had left him, he still held his wand aloft. At first, his face seemed impassive, yet it took but a moment, and he had erupted into the same awkward laughter as before.

"I am undeniably innocent," he told me solemnly.

"You most certainly are not!"

He sighed, then smirked. "Here, allow me to assist you."

Tom came to me, his gait a nigh arrogant swagger. He leant forward, his hand outstretched, and I clasped it with mine. For a moment, it lingered there, the sun reflecting upon the water dripping across my skin as though wide rivers nearly dried. Then I tightened my grip, and in he plunged.

-

Such moments between us I would cherish, for seconds after and decades to come. There was always a simple happiness to them, drawing me into the bliss of my once childish ways and shrouding me, for a small slice of time, from the ways of the world.

This scene seemed to set the tone to which our summer would take: light and carefree, like a child who refuses to look into the shadowed corner of a room. After but a week, it seemed as though Tom and I had been happily married, planning our future together when in truth we remained at the orphanage under the Madam's constant sharp eyes. At the time, I did not consider our merriment to be driven by guilt.

-

It was night, and the walls of the room which Tom and I shared muffled the gentle hum of crickets and night birds beyond them. Thus, the most profound of noises was the persistent scratch of quill upon parchment. Though my back was turned from it and I faced the wall nearest my cot, I could see the soft glow of a candle reflecting upon the surface before me, casting shadows laced with sighs as the orphanage settled and slept. Just as summer had quickly been approaching, I feared that soon it would come to an end. Although, the air still was laden thick with heat, draping it about the room and preventing me from slumber.

I slid the sheets from my legs, heavy and lethargic, with perspiration upon me and placed y feet upon the floor. It seemed cooler than the air, and I briefly closed my eyes, savoring the feeling. Then I pulled myself from the cot and onto the edge of Tom's bed. He started at my arrival, but soon carefully replaced the cap of his ink, placing his quill beside it upon a rough three-legged table beside him. The parchment upon which he had written he hastily tucked away; I saw but the corner before it had vanished from view. I glanced at the place it had been momentarily, then lifted my gaze to meet his.

"Am I keeping you awake?" he queried, touching my shoulder.

I shivered. "No. It is far too hot for sleep."

"Indeed," he replied in agreement, and we lapsed into silence. In the absence of voices, the cricket song seemed to increase. It was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, yet it seemed that both Tom and I wished to speak, though knew not what to say. At times, I wondered if it was truly about the words.