Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series.
Chapter Seventeen
October 31, 1937 — First Year
Halloween or Samhain was probably one of the dullest holiday that Tom had experienced until he came to Hogwarts Academy. Back in Wool's Orphanage, Halloween was spent the same as any other day; the only difference was there were a few chocolate bars for dessert after dinner. They did not go trick or treating or made costumes or even held a party. Everything was lackluster with the exception of a rather entertaining Mrs. Cole who indulged in a bottle of whiskey and scotch once dinner was over and would loudly tell them all about her unfortunate life and how much she hated them all. Frankly, whenever Halloween came in the orphanage, the living might as well be the same as the dead.
In Hogwarts, however, it was the exact opposite. Everything felt alive, even the ghosts that floated around and mingled with the students. The food was extraordinary and mouth watering; candies and chocolates were more common to find than actual food. The decorations were beautiful and pleasing, from the carved pumpkins with their various expressions that ranged from happy to angry and scary floating in the air, candles in their mouths, to the ghosts that had somehow tripled overnight and mingled with the students. In the Muggle world, Halloween was associated with fear but in Hogwarts, it was associated with wonder. You did not have to fear the dead when you've seen ghosts in a daily basis. Tom was simply drunk with it all that by the end of the night, there was a touch of smile across his lips and he was in a fairly good mood.
"You're smiling," Hermione had commented beside him as they were walking back towards their dorms, the sound of their shoes along with her long staff hitting the concrete floor accompanied them.
Tom consciously noted that he was absently smiling a while ago and immediately frowned. He had never done that before, smiling without thought like some kind of idiot. He wondered how long he had been smiling before Hermione had pointed it out. It didn't do well if someone saw his apparent happy mood. In the orphanage, showing the slightest bit of happiness due to material or immaterial things were considered a suicide. The children there were ruthless and spiteful, and they would do whatever it took to ensure that any happy thoughts were replaced with fear, hunger, or even pain. The orphanage wasn't meant to be a happy place.
Tom had learned earlier on to never show his happiness — which wasn't a difficult feat considering that the orphanage could make any optimistic person go into depression — and only showed his cruelty and ruthlessness, his satisfaction whenever he exacted his revenge. He collected trophies and trinkets and the children knew never to mess with him and his things. Despite that, he was careful not to smile at the most benign things because smiling meant happiness and exposing the reason why you were happy would be similar to attaching a sign to it that would let everyone know how important that was to you; and once they knew what it was, they would have no qualms taking it from you. It didn't take long before he was the ensuring that any child in the orphanage and those who made the mistake of crossing him were never happy.
"Oh, what's wrong? Why did you stop?" Hermione asked, bemused. "I didn't tell you to stop smiling."
Tom shook his head, intending to forget about his slight mishap. Hogwarts was different from the orphanage but it didn't mean that the same rules didn't apply, especially if you were sorted into the house of Slytherin and were labelled as a mudblood by your own housemates. In a way, the House of the Snakes reminded Tom of the orphanage. People see other people as a means to an end, as a way to gain something, which admittedly came easy for Tom to understand. He had been playing the game long before he could even walk or speak. It was really no wonder why he was immediately sorted into Slytherin.
"Ignore it," he told her. "It was a moment of near insanity in my part."
She snorted and rolled her eyes at him. "Hilarious," she deadpanned. "To think that you think that you're sane."
Tom faked a gasp although there a ghost of a smirk lingering in his lips. "That hurt, Miss Dumbledore," he said to her. "Truly. I am completely sane."
She only laughed at his antics. "Tell me," Hermione suddenly said, turning her head ahead of them. "Tell me what's your most favorite part of the day."
Tom arched an amused brow. "Why are you asking?"
"I can tell that this day was special for you," she said, tossing him an absent smile. "Tell me what's so special about it."
Tom frowned, not wanting to impart to the small but bright witch the horrors he faced in the orphanage. Hermione wasn't meant to know about the monsters and terrors one would encounter in life. She deserved more than that. As much as possible, he wanted her to remain in the unknown, to not be aware of the horrors one would face in the dark.
"Because you're in it," Tom said with a charming smile, the one he would use to trick a professor in the school or anyone really. No one could see through the cheerful and charming mask he constructed carefully.
She shot him a look and bumped her shoulder against his. "Be serious," she chided.
Tom sighed inwardly. Let him rephrase that. No one could see through the cheerful and charming mask he constructed—aside from Hermione.
"I've never seen more candies and chocolates in my lifetime before," he confessed quietly, giving her the impression that the confession was only meant for her ears and hers alone. "I could feel the magic in the air, back there at the feast, and everything felt alive, even the ghosts. I know that this day is meant for the dead and not for the living but from the twinkling lights to the jolly ghosts, it doesn't feel like it."
Hermione beamed, her eyes soft and shone like liquid gold. Tom's breath caught in his throat. Although she wasn't the prettiest girl by far, there was something about those eyes that made Tom speechless for a while. Magic would never cease to wonder and Hermione's eyes would never cease to make his breath catch. There was light in there that he hadn't seen in anyone's eyes before. Tom couldn't name it innocence or wonder but rather something else, something good, something that was just like this night: alive. Whatever it was, Tom hoped she would never lose that light. Some part of him wanted to bottle up that light and covet it, keep it from everyone else to see and notice because they would want it for themselves. But Tom resisted that urge. Because as much as he wanted that light, it was not his to share.
That—that tightened his chest and gave it a painful squeeze. He frowned to himself, never knowing the cause of that painful squeeze and what it was. He had never felt it before.
"Wow, I've never heard you sound so sentimental before," she remarked in wonder. Then she grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly, a smile stretching her lips. "Come on. I've got something to show you."
Tom didn't offer a protest as she tugged him down towards an unfamiliar path. The hallway was dark but the more they went further, the more torches flared in response to their presence. The path they were going towards was some place he hadn't explored before, too busy practicing magic to ever notice it. He would have to rectify that soon, though. They went up the moving staircases until they came across the forbidden Third Floor of the castle. Tom shot a curious glance at Hermione which she either noticed and ignored or did not notice at all.
"We aren't allowed here," Tom noted. Normally, he would not say such an obvious thing but it needed to be said, considering that Hermione rarely, if not ever, broke the rules.
"Shh. Come on. Faster," she whispered with an excited air in her voice that was befitting for a child—which they both were.
They came upon a large wooden door that was made out of strong oak. Based by the scratches on the surface and the rust on the iron, it was probably as old as the castle but was neglected and uncared for. Tom watched impatiently as Hermione tapped the knob with the red orb of her staff, easily channeling her magic to unlock the door. The heavy door unlocked and they both stepped back as it swung open slowly for them. Tom peered inside the door, curious as he noted the darkness beckoning them inside. Hermione gestured for him to follow her as she stepped into the doorway and while Tom may had his reservations, he knew that Hermione would never do anything to hurt him.
He trusted her not to lead him astray.
They went inside the dark room, and Tom watched as the door swung close behind them. He pulled out his wand and uttered Lumos quietly under his breath, before following after Hermione's brown mane. They did not went far. They only took a few more steps before she stopped in front of a large and old mirror and Tom eyed her as she turned to him. The room suddenly brightened and so Tom cancelled the Light charm then proceeded to examine the large and intricate mirror and the words written above in fancy gold letters.
"Come," Hermione said, grabbing his hand and pointing towards his reflection on the mirror. "Look and see."
Tom's violet eyes met the ones in the mirror. He eyed himself for a moment: eleven years old and yet taller than most people his age with a slender build, boyish face, perfectly coiffed midnight black hair, and striking and vibrant violet eyes that Tom had the privy to know that he inherited it from his mother. He knew that he was handsome; he heard the professors whispering and gossiping that he would grow into a very fine and handsome boy. He noticed the way girls giggling over his looks and how even the older students seemed unable to keep their eyes off of him.
His vibrant eyes moved to the other reflection in the mirror: small with a mass of large curls taking up her whole frame and whose honey brown eyes were soulful and seemed to suck you in. And yet the only eyes he wanted to stay on him was the eyes of the person right next to him.
"What do you see?" Hermione whispered right next to him, standing close to him with their hands clasped.
"You," he answered honestly. "You and me."
Her eyebrows furrowed. "That's it?" She sounded surprised.
Tom nodded, eyeing their reflection together. Still so young, still had a lot to learn, and yet Tom knew that they were the strongest students to have ever graced Hogwarts in many centuries. She was the daughter of the future Headmaster, the current Transfiguration Professor, and the great Philosopher. Meanwhile, he was the orphan boy whose lineage remained unknown but whose magic could inspire wonder and awe. Together, hand in hand, they could do anything.
"Why?" He asked her. "What am I supposed to be seeing?"
Hermione turned to him. "Papa showed this to me back when I was nine years old. This is the Mirror of Erised."
"Desire," Tom immediate deciphered. "It doesn't only show our reflections, does it?"
Hermione shook her head. "No; it shows our greatest desires, the one our heart harbors. However, it doesn't show the truth, as much as we want it to." Then she smiled. "Papa once said that the happiest man in the world would look upon this mirror and only see himself. It turns into a normal mirror without enchantments."
"But I see us," said Tom, cocking his head and looking confused. "I see us the way we are now."
Hermione peered into his eyes and squeezed his hand tenderly. "Maybe that's your heart desires, Tom."
Tom blinked and looked back at the mirror, gazing at their reflections with a new understanding. He saw himself with his hand wrapped around Hermione's and although his lips weren't smiling, he could tell that he was very deeply happy inside. In the real world outside of the mirror, Tom tightened his hold on Hermione's hand and thought, yes.
Yes, this was what he desired most. To have Hermione to hold—his Hermione, in every way.
