A/N: New obsession for me – Mr. Brightside by The Killers. I love the official music video, it's really weird, but somehow the way that the guy singing (I can never remember his name…) does these tiny actions that reminds me of Tom, like secretly watching the girl he likes with her boyfriend when she's not paying attention, like when he's holding his head and going, it was only a kiss. It's perfect for this chapter.
You've already read the majority of this chapter, but, like the Yule Ball chapter, it's been edited, and there's an add-on at the end, because this is two chapters together, instead of just the one that I posted in Rewind. I hope you like it…!
Disclaimer: Don't own it.
Backtrack
Chapter Twenty-Five: Black Hole
On the spur of the moment, he spun back towards the portrait hole, dragging in the deep breath that he would need to keep him going once he blurted out his feelings- She was gone. He exhaled his drawn breath in a short burst, staring out into the corridor. He couldn't distinguish which was the stronger emotion, the relief or the disappointment. Either way, he watched the painting close back over the entrance, and then moved back up to his dormitory.
He stumbled towards his bed, pushing a hand backwards through his tangled dark hair. He was setting his wand down on his bedside table when realisation struck him, and he straightened up in surprise. She called me Tom.
xxx
It was only a kiss
How did it end up like this
It was only a kiss
It was only a kiss
Looking through weary eyes at the Prefect patrol list, Tom found that there was nothing at all wrong with it. Scanning over it one more time… no, it was perfectly acceptable. His task completed, and satisfied with the outcome, he set his battered quill back into its pot, and sealed his ink. Long, thin fingers neatly folded the list and dropped it into his robes pocket.
The tall Head Boy rested his head onto the top of the posterior of the high-backed chair he sat in, and stretched slightly.
He stood, straight as a pin, and decided that he saw no reason why not go and deliver the date-list to Professor Dippet right away. His homework was finished, having completed it on New Year's Eve; his new book from the library - which he had wanted to read earlier but had been unable to due to the fact that it had been, for a while, in the common room, which had been occupied by Fionn - was proving rather uninteresting; and it was his free period. He might as well go for a walk.
Is there anything else needs doing…?
Tom's dark gaze skimmed over his bedroom, searching every surface for something that might need delivering. Any loose papers… no.
Plucking the book that might as well be returned to the library from the top of his cabinet, Tom slipped through the door and quietly descended the stairs.
"Oh, hello!" said Fionn cheerfully from in the living room, surrounded by a gaggle of her disruptive, peculiar, and immensely stupid companions. She beamed at him, knowing without a doubt that being friendly and cheery would irritate him endlessly.
The seventeen-year-old male eyed them apprehensively. Then, with a curt nod, he said frostily, "'Afternoon." He missed out the 'good'. What was good about having to acknowledge and greet the existence of Fionn and her idiotic comrades? Especially after what she'd said on New Year's Eve…
His jaw tightened.
Well, Fionn, you'll be de-lighted to know that I've already tried to tell her… twice.
The sigh that he gave next was short and inaudible.
'Tried' being the operative word.
Without waiting for anything else to happen – at worst, the conversation being continued – he swept from the Head common room, black robes snapping at his ankles.
He made his way briskly but smoothly through the long, winding corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He knew every tapestry, every statue… and, more importantly, what secret tunnels lay behind them.
Stepping surreptitiously into one of said tunnels, he navigated a reliable short-cut to the office of Headmaster Dippet. The passageways were dimly lit by torches of flickering fire, suspended on the walls in metal brackets.
One minute later – perhaps two – Tom emerged down the corridor from Dippet's office, from behind a painting of two snakes, biting each other's heads off.
Ironic, he mused to himself, his eyes flashing upon the image, before he moved on, forwards with his journey.
"Ancillary," Tom told the two stone gargoyles. Of course, a dictator such as Armando Dippet would have his office password being a word meaning in a position of lesser importance, so quote said dictator. "Head business."
The gargoyles grumbled and muttered in response, before allowing a twisting staircase to appear in the wall. Tom headed up it, his footsteps echoing lightly and reverberating against the stone walls. The steps came to an end and there, at the end, was the expensive, carved oak door, emblazoned with the intricately-chiselled name of Headmaster Armando Dippet, 1934-1959. As if somehow anyone had forgotten.
Tom lifted a knuckle and rapped smartly on the wood. "Professor Dippet, sir," he said, not raising his voice a single decibel, but his clear, accent-laced voice carrying.
"Ah." A pause. A shuffling of papers. "Yes… yes, come in, Tom."
The Head Boy's eyes narrowed. Don't call me Tom.
A memory of another voice - 'oh, and Tom?' – hit him, but he ignored that. Relaxing his face into a smooth, impassive mask, he pushed the door open and stepped into the office.
Merle, Dippet's Augurey, hooted at him morosely.
Be quiet, you blasted bird.
"Yes, Tom?" Dippet surveyed him from over the tops of his spectacles. "Is there something you want?"
Hiding every ounce of I hate you throbbing within his head, Tom said smoothly, "No, sir. I have the Prefect patrol list for you to check over."
"Ah. Well done."
Do I look as though I'm five years old?
Tom withdrew the folded parchment from the pocket of his robes and held it out loosely to the Headmaster. Dippet took it from his fingers, glanced at the lines of miniscule, neat italics, and then set it down on his desk.
"Is that all?" Dippet asked conversationally, though his tone was distinctly uninterested.
"Yes, sir."
"Very well. Off you go, then, Tom," Dippet shooed him away.
Wanting to leave as quickly as possible, Tom turned and moved smartly towards the door-
"Hang on – are you going in the direction of Professor Devin?"
Tom glared at the back of the door, his lips thinning. Flattening the features of his strong-jawed face, he swivelled back to face Dippet. "No, sir," he said flatly. "I'm going to the library, and then returning to the Head dormitories. I have work to do."
"Oh." Dippet looked rather put-out. "Say do you think that you could possibly go on a detour to the library… maybe deliver some papers to Professor Devin, I promised I'd get these in to him as soon as possible." He held up a large sheaf of papers.
"I'm afraid that I do have quite a lot of work to do," Tom said untruthfully.
"Not too much, I don't think?" said Dippet hopefully, pushing the parchment towards his student.
Dark eyes narrowed. What part of I do not want to be your paper-boy could Dippet not understand?
"Go on, then, Tom," said Dippet cheerily. He gave a wry smile, and then flapped open a large, dusty-looking book.
The Head Boy grasped the bundle of documents from the front of Dippet's desk, slid them on top of the book he was returning to the library, and then, not waiting for anything else to be asked of him, left.
Walking quickly through the castle, he made his way down to the fifth floor, fiddling absent-mindedly with the shabby hem of his sleeve as he did so.
Soon, the corridor came into view around a corner, and, near the end, the wooden door that Tom recalled to be marked with a sign reading Defence Against the Dark Arts – Professor Michelangelo R. Devin. There was noise from within that the Head Boy couldn't identify. He slowed as he approached the room.
"Professor Devin, sir," he said to the door, knocking lightly on the wood beside the bronze plaque.
No-one answered. Noises were still coming from within. He briefly pondered the chance that they were doing something dangerous that shouldn't be interrupted.
Nonsense. It isn't the seventh-years in there… if it's not NEWT year, how dangerous could it be?
After another knock – and another – the seventeen-year-old male pushed the door open and entered the room.
"Sir," he said politely, "sorry to disturb your lesson."
He didn't see what was going on, though he glanced around the room. The tiny glimpse he got was enough to show a class of sixth-years all sitting, silent, doing nothing, watching in great interest.
Wondering to himself what they were looking at, he turned back to where, he presumed, Professor Devin was. "I have some papers for you, from Pro-"
His sentence stopped, as he was distracted by a blur of scarlet in his range of vision. It was probably better that he had stopped speaking anyway, as a few seconds later, he was cut off very abruptly by something – someone? – he couldn't tell – something, he decided – not a person – because that would be classified as an invasion of my personal space – grabbed the sides of his face rather painfully-
It is a person, Tom realised, with a considerable amount of alarm as he saw huge hazel eyes glowing in his line of vision, so overwhelmingly close that he stopped breathing, in fact, I think it's Ginevra.
-and then crushed his lips underneath her own.
Tom's eyes widened as he had a split-second to grasp what was happening.
Then his logical mind shut down completely.
A few seconds… no.
A few minutes?... no.
Maybe a day or two… who knew.
Then the someone – something – red hair, hazel eyes, heart-shaped face… yes, that was indeed Ginevra – pulled away, and was dragged backwards by an unseen force… probably Devin… he had no idea…
Staring blankly ahead, not having moved since being… well, 'attacked' was the best word for it – Tom struggled to find his voice. Or even his brain. Everything, however, he found, was numb and not working properly.
"Mr. Riddle, I'm terribly sorry, she was under the Imperius Curse, just a test, you see, though that was not supposed to happen, I am sorry – what was it you wanted?" Professor Devin's voice was ringing as though from very far away.
Frozen. But somehow not frozen enough to stick his hand out. The hand holding the papers.
Devin took them. "Oh, yes, thank you! Tell Professor Dippet I send my thanks and regards; or maybe I'll do it myself. I am sorry, Mr. Riddle…"
Tom stared forwards.
"Er. Mr. Riddle, are you alright?"
A tiny voice of consciousness and reality woke up in Tom's brain.
He's talking to you, it chided.
"Er. Yes… yes, I'm – I'm fine," Tom heard himself say, and, as though he was outside of his body and watching his actions from a long distance away, he felt himself turn and move blindly out of the door.
It took him a while to find the door-handle, and then a while still to close the door successfully.
For a few minutes, he stood on the other side of the door to Ginevra. Just standing there. Staring at the wall. Dazed.
What exactly just happened?
The intelligent part of his brain that didn't get confused by girls (or at least, not too badly) kicked into action, and coming up with a prompt response for him.
Ginevra just kissed you.
He sucked in a gasp, his eyes widened times a hundred, he had to lean against the wall to stop himself falling over. He struggled to regain his suddenly short and very shallow breath.
Breathe in… breathe out… breathe in… breathe out…
The feel of her lips on his lingered. He couldn't shake the feeling pounding through his head. Maybe… maybe she felt something… maybe forgot to breathe sometimes… maybe went numb sometimes…
Don't be ridiculous.
Tom stared at the wall where his hand was leaning. Slowly, reality was sinking in.
She kissed me.
He abruptly found that his head felt very dizzy. His first kiss. Ginevra.
She kissed me.
Laughter echoed from inside the Defence Against the Dark Arts. In the back of his mind, Tom vaguely realised that the shock must have passed – she must have become conscious of what she'd done.
For the first time in a very long time, Tom went bright red, and then, his brain still dead, his muscles numb, and his lips stinging, he walked away as though absolutely nothing had happened.
And yet as he walked away, he still catalogued it as the best three seconds of his life so far.
A moment later, students began to emerge from various classrooms on that corridor. Foreseeing the mockery that would come if he stayed still, he hurried down the corridor, quickly slipped behind a tapestry of a beribboned little girl and lurked silently in the corridor behind, having nothing to do, but still unwilling to leave.
Even though he told himself very firmly that this was not was he was going, he sub-consciously knew that he was waiting for Ginevra.
Waiting for her reaction.
It was a few minutes (in which time someone entered the corridor and looked at him strangely; he ignored them, and they continued on their way) before he knew that she'd left the classroom, as her loud, obnoxious footsteps rang out in the hallway outside.
Still, as she approached, it was a while before he could hear whatever she was saying.
Voices becoming clearer, slowly.
"Yeah." She was adamant about something, stubborn as ever. Her tone was not one of protest, it was one of and-that's-final. "And I think that Devin's lying to cover his own back."
Philips' voice joined in, sounding amused. "Ginny, people don't do that here. The students do, but the teachers? No."
There was a shallow thump, like an angry stomp, or the kicking of a wall. It reverberated into the passage where Tom stood.
"Don't worry about it," Philips continued, reassuring Ginevra. "It's probably just a big misunderstanding."
Tom frowned. What is?
"Hell yeah!" Ginevra exclaimed, sounding relieved that finally someone grasped what she'd been trying to say for quite some time… whatever it was. Also annoyance in her voice, that no-one else had realised in the first place. "One big old misunderstanding – understatement! This is the worst misunderstanding ever! Because the fact is that people have to understand that I don't feel anything for Tom."
The Head Boy behind a tapestry stood silent, unseen, staring blankly forwards as those two familiar voices faded away as the distance between them grew.
His stomach was a black hole, gravity sucking in darkness.
As his head began to spin rapidly – a numb feeling in his chest like heartburn – wanting to be sick – a stab of pain through his chest - Tom turned sharply on his heel and stalked away down the corridor. His cloak flared around his ankles, his usually muted steps loud, snappish with the uncharacteristic speed and force with which he walked.
Entering the passageway on the other side of it was Fionn, who greeted him with a big smile. "Hey," she chirped, and then her face fell into a concern that he hated so much it hurt. He didn't want her sympathy. He didn't want her worry. He didn't anyone. "What's wro-"
He pushed past her, hitting her with his shoulder and not caring.
Tom stormed away through the castle. He didn't know in the slightest where he was going. He didn't give a damn. Somewhere. Anywhere. Somewhere where the rest of the world wasn't.
Especially Ginevra.
He never wanted to see her again.
xxx
Poor Tom needs a hug. Well, I know lots of fan-girly reviewers who be in a line to give you a hug, so don't worry, Tommy dearest! :D Please review, and you get to hug an angsty young Dark Lord of your choice.
Heart, me.