Hello everyone!
Hope you're all safe and healthy in this odd times.
Here's chapter 9 of the story, as always, please do let me know if there are major typos or mistakes, I'll try to double and triple check in the next few days too and fix the most obvious ones!
Hermione's struggle is getting real! LoL
Hope you'll enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think!
Love,
M.
Chapter 9: House of Gaunt
Hermione had never been much of a sex expert.
Of course she wasn't oblivious to what sex was and she had a fair idea of its mechanics, at least academically speaking.
She'd just never had a true chance of exploring the subject first-hand.
She had gone through all the healthy stages of her sexual development growing up, but her actual experience had stopped with the discovery of that tingling feeling of tension in the bottom of her belly.
The very first time she'd experienced it, it had been one unsuspecting summer afternoon, while watching an old movie starring Paul Newman (Mrs. Granger celebrity crush since forever), in the living room of her family home, sucking on a blue raspberry Push Pop while taking a break from her homework.
She remembered how odd she had felt when the sensation had crept from the bottom of her belly and sent her heartbeat throbbing in her ears.
Mrs. Granger had been behind her at the time, ironing hers and her husband's pristine lab coats, her adoring eyes, glued on the actor despite the cloud of steam that surrounded her.
Hermione had briefly considered asking her mother what that feeling, sending blood rushing in unthinkable areas of her body, might have been. She had been about to ask, really, but then, for the first time in her life, she had chosen not to ask a question about something she hadn't known.
As if she had innately known that 'something unknown' to be just a little too naughty, intimate and secret to disclose.
Instead, she had enjoyed the high of the unusual 'tummy ache' Paul Newman had evoked by simply existing and having the most amazing eyes one could dream of.
Since then the sensation had returned several times. Sometimes Hermione could evoke the feeling willingly, looking for pictures of her childhood idols, lying on her stomach on the hard floor or reading about steamy kisses in her books.
Other times the sensation could dawn on her in the most unthinkable moments.
Once even during a particularly furious quarrel with a very blond, sleek and venomous Draco Malfoy.
Hermione would have never admitted it to another soul, but in that instance, when the blond Slytherin had walked into her personal space in an attempt to intimidate her, whispering obscene and disgusting slurs right to her face, Hermione had had to make a tremendous effort to resist the temptation to lean forward and just taste the prat. Something that would've have likely had catastrophic repercussions...
She had returned to her dorm on wobbly knees and had mentally scolded herself for days in a very house-elf-like fashion.
Ron had been the first instance in which her arousal had gone from a tingling feeling to a constant gut-wrenching bite, an overwhelming and uncomfortable twisting of her every organ.
Hermione clearly remembered how the slightest contact with Ron had sometimes been enough to make her double over and grunt with the discomfort of not knowing how to let off all of that steam and warm energy within.
It had been Lavender, with her impudent brazenness, the first to tackle Hermione's innocence walls, rudely introducing her to topics like masturbation, fingering and petting.
At the time, Hermione had blushed furiously hearing about such intimate matters, still too much of a prude to admit that the topic had a mysterious appeal even to a know-it-all nerd such as herself.
She had refused to take part in the evenings where Gryffindor girls would sit in a circle, exchanging gossip, giving each other advice and sharing their experiences for the sake of common knowledge.
Hermione didn't fancy listening to the very crude descriptions of male genitalia the older girls would provide, plus she had feared the other girls might have snitched on her, which in hindsight, considering the brief time Ron had dated Lavender, had been an excellent idea.
By the time Hermione had come to be vaguely more comfortable on the subject of sex and perhaps, even mildly interested in learning a bit more about that self-stimulation thing, it had been too late.
War had torn her mind from her adolescent drives altogether and sex had been the least of her thoughts while living on the run with Harry and Ron.
Once she had been thrown into the past, there had been much more to worry about than her sexuality. Life in the Orphanage had been hard, demanding and above all ... crowded.
The first time Hermione had felt the ghost of her libido crawl again into the bottom of her belly, had been with Herbert. More precisely, with Herbert's back side.
It had been exciting to feel that tickle again, however tepid if compared to the overpowering sensation she remembered feeling in the past.
It had been more of a yawning lukewarm version of it, a lazy awakening of her senses.
However, after that summer, after her spar with Tom, Hermione had put so much effort into researching, working and fixing her relationship with the boy that she hadn't thought of the matter anymore.
Unraveling the mystery of what would come after that pressure in her belly had lost its appeal as the feeling itself had faded away once more.
The only trace of Hermione's sexual drive had just occasionally made its appearance ever since, moslty in the form of her vague jealousy for the far more hormonally-driven students around her... at least until the night in the infirmary.
"I want you to want to kiss me"
"I love you so much… so much."
Those words had been echoing in her ears for weeks, making her deaf to the Gryffindors taunting her about the Boggart whenever Dumbledore was not around, or the whispers that inevitably stopped whenever the Assistant made her entrance in a room.
Those words.
Those fucking words had robbed her of her sleep, distracted her from her assistant duties during exams but most of all, they had made her a quivering mess whenever her eyes had crossed the mercury pools in Tom's across the Great Hall.
She had tried to suppress that illogical feeling by focusing more on her own research, studying and memorizing entire books of old runes, investing every spare moment in helping other professors prepare for exams, taking long walks around the lake, going for jogs in the park and avoiding Tom as if her life depended on it (which had turned out to be quite easy since he had been very taken by his end-year exams anyway).
No matter how hard or what she tried though, she always felt as if she were using a glass of water to put out a raging fire.
The most frustrating aspect of the whole thing was that Hermione couldn't quite pinpoint the reason why, things had changed so drastically.
It had been a bit like falling: one moment you're standing and the next, the floor is coming at your face… or vice versa.
How is it that you missed that stupid step? Or tripped on your own laces? Those are question you will only ask yourself later.
Right then, while you're falling… well… you're just falling. Inevitably, sadly, miserably, following gravity, with no chance of resisting its pull.
All you can do is wait for the blow. If you're quick enough, you may stretch your hands forward to try and lessen the violence of impact.
But that's it.
All that's left to do is brace yourself and go down, assess the damages later on.
Hermione must have definitely tripped over something, because overnight she had gone from looking at Tom through a veil of protective motherly love to seeing him through an embarrassing and conflicting veil of blind... well... desire.
When had he turned into something sexual? Why now? She had heard him frigging touching himself months prior and it hadn't had the same devastating effect! What had gotten into her?
Her questions remained unanswered.
All she knew, was that few days after the Boggart incident (which by the way had cost Gryffindor any chance of winning the House Cup and robbed her of any chance to be liked by the lot of them ever), she had looked across the Great Hall to give the usual discreet good morning nod to Tom and his friends, and when she had found his usual spot… her Tom… the five-year-old Tom she had taught to read and cross the road to, hadn't been there.
In his place, sitting placidly before a cup of tea, she had found a completely different creature.
A tall specimen, with broader shoulders than Tom, with a sharper jaw, with deeper eyes.
A bundle of growing height and slowly expanding muscles, wrapped in crisp pressed clothes… clothes she knew would have smelled like the darkest chocolate had she leaned in for a quick sniff.
The human in Tom's seat, the one who couldn't possibly be Tom for he could kill with a smile and stab with his gaze, had smirked up at her with a knowing expression that had sent her every nerve ablaze.
It couldn't have been Tom but it had been him, indubitably.
And so the fall had begun.
Tom had turned into some sort of black hole, drawing in any ounce of Hermione's focus whenever he'd strut in a classroom or down a corridor.
He'd suck up all of the oxygen in the room just by… existing. He just needed to glance at her and Hermione would feel like suffocating, like trapped in her own skin and hot… God, scorching.
"God, I want you so much sometimes."
"I don't want to touch anyone else. Don't want to be… touched. No one but you."
His husky voice would start echoing in her mind, screaming over her doubts, constantly humming and silencing her logic.
The biting feeling she remembered Ron making her feel, had turned into a raging fire, burning hot paths down her belly and further down, between her legs.
Unexpectedly it had become impossible to keep her eyes from noticing small movements like the unbuttoning of a cuff, the loosening of his tie, the stretching of the sore muscles of his neck.
Of course, it hadn't taken long for him to notice.
Oh, Tom had noticed all right. Hermione was more than sure.
The way he had started addressing her, the way his entire posture and demeanor would change whenever she was around, the careful way he'd choose the right moments to brush her hand or hip, the fact that he had no longer tried to force his presence on her but would always let her find him instead... even the simple fact that he never again mentioned the peck on the lips she had given him... all clues pointed to Tom knowing full well what was going on in Hermione's head.
All clues screamed how overly pleased with her confusione he was.
He didn't seem any eager in rushing her fall either, as if knowing that eventually, she would have hit the ground right where he wanted her to, just as hard as he had anticipated.
Which was why Hermione was now waist-deep in the massive bathtub of the Teacher's bathroom, determined to unravel the mechanics Lavender had once tried to give her access to.
Yes.
Hermione's solution to that madness had been unraveling the secrets of masturbation.
As the practical woman she prided herself on being, Hermione wouldn't let her hormones rule her. So if her body required a release, a reasonable request, considering both her physical and theoretical age, Hermione would have granted it. On her own terms.
She would soon be leaving for France and refused to fall victim to her own hormones within walking distance of the finish line. Especially when her feelings were so still so confused and conflicted.
So yes, in the meantime, while waiting to put some distance between herself and Tom (a distance she was convinced would've helped get her thoughts straight), masturbation would be her go to. That was going to be her way of stretching her hands forward, lessen the impact.
It should've been enough of a distraction and a way to let out some of the odd gut-wrenching steam... in theory.
Hermione buried her face between her hands and sighed.
She had been in the water for ten minutes already, completely alone, and she still hadn't even found the courage to start.
It felt a little silly, not so much for the act itself, which she considered quite natural, but because she didn't know exactly where to start. If only she could have been a little less rational and more instinctive.
"Oh, come on! I rode a Dragon, travelled back in time, I fought a war… I can manage a wank, can't I?" She muttered shaking her hands at her sides before dipping them into the warm water.
She made a first attempt to caress her own bony hips, trying to be provocative with herself. She slipped her hands over the flat area below her navel and giggled at the ticklish feeling.
It took very little for her to feel like a complete moron and stop altogether.
This wouldn't work.
Hermione took a deep breath and tried a different approach to the matter. A blunt one.
Spreading her legs on the stone seat in the tub, Hermione began studying the shapes between her legs with her fingers.
When she found what her biology books had taught her to be her entrance, Hermione tentatively pushed the tip of her index finger past it and then immediately pulled it back, hissing in annoyance at the odd invasion.
After a couple of moments of frowning, she made a second attempt, slipped the finger into the opening again and tried to focus on the feeling.
The inside of her was tight, a little slippery and ... oddly textured. Hermione made a face.
Not what she had expected, but she tried to resist the temptation to retreat after all the effort of inserting the single digit in there.
Nothing.
She wriggled her finger, tried slipping it in and out a bit.
The sensation was rather annoying or neutral at best.
She tried to insert a second finger but gave up almost immediately because it just seemed to increase the discomfort.
Hermione wondered briefly how it was possible to insert anything else in there, considering that a single finger already seemed to take up too much space, but then told herself that if a child could come out of it, a penis shouldn't have had too much trouble getting in.
It was probably a matter of habit.
Hermione removed her finger and snorted.
She was thinking too much and feeling too little.
"Ok, no worries, Hermione, it's fine." She whispered, pulling her hands out to swipe her damp hair from her forehead.
Perhaps it was a little too optimistic to hope that stimulating the inside of her vagina would feel pleasant right away, especially since she was a virgin and not particularly horny at the moment..
Hermione didn't lose heart, she knew she had a couple more chances of winning that fight, even though she secretly cursed herself for not listening to Lavender with more interest when she had had a chance.
If only she could have had a couple of books... too bad in the 1940s books on sex were a utopia, let alone those on female masturbation!
Masters and Johnson were about twenty years away from making the discoveries and publications that Hermione might have found useful, although, if millions of women before her, had cracked the code without books and manuals, surely Hermione had a fair chance too.
She turned the blue-raspberry foam tap back on for a while, when she was satisfied with the result, she sat back down on the stone seat.
This time she put her hands to her nipples.
Tentatively, she stroked and squeezed, pinched and stimulated the two little pins on her chest. The sensation was pleasant this time, and she almost squealed from the satisfaction of the small result.
She continued like this for a while, relaxing under her ministrations, until she met her gaze in the large mirror in front of the tub.
God, what a small, flat breast. Most of her students had bigger breasts than hers, and most of her students were under fifteen ...
The thought suddenly made Hermione blush, she removed her hands from her chest and rose back on her feet to better scrutinize her figure.
She was no longer skeletal, as she had been back at the orphanage, but she could've surely made an effort and put on a few pounds.
Her breasts were really small… firm someone might have argued, but with that size ... it couldn't have been otherwise. There was really no danger of gravity having power over those two barely noticeable mounds of hers.
Her waist was much too thin, her ribs were visible, not all of them, but most of them.
The only thing Hermione liked in that picture was her face.
She could proudly admit it to be a nice looking face. Her nose was small and straight, her eyes were big and deep, she thought she had nice lips too.
Hermione focused on her reflection, trying to be less hard on herself.
Maybe she wasn't gifted with a cheeky beauty like Walburga Black's, nor a unique one like Rosier's, but all in all, but she could be attractive too, unless one had a fetish for big breasts or curvy hips, of course.
In fact, there was someone who didn't mind that picture at all, even now, even with her small breasts and tiny butt... someone who was way too attractive for his captivation to make sense to her.
"Fuck ... I got distracted again!" Hermione glared in the mirror and sat back down.
She tried to touch her breasts again, repeating her now tested movements, only now she couldn't help but think about how small her boobs were.
"Okay. Clitoris. We'll try that." Hermione's hands went back under the surface of the water.
She relaxed her shoulders, leaned her head back on the edge of the tub and stroked the soft flesh between her legs delicately. She kept going for a while, adjusting pressure and pace as she went.
Enjoyable. Definitely interesting. Do elaborate, Mrs. Granger. Her mind purred.
"You should think of something arousing!" whispered a voice in Hermione's head, a voice that could have been Lavender's.
Hermione agreed. Something arousing might have helped indeed.
She flicked her index finger against her clit and a small jolt went through her whole body. The feeling fueled her spirit and she focused harder.
Ok. Something arousing ...
"I love you so much… so much. Only you. I want to kiss you. I want you to want…" Hermione moaned softly, recognizing the tingling sensation building in her lower belly.
"No one else will do. I love you. It's so frustrating to think that…"
"So now you touch yourself thinking of him? Nice job, 'Mione… this will surely help, right?" Hermione gasped in hearing the mocking thought pop in her head with the voice of Harry Potter.
She removed her hand and blinked several times.
He was right. Wait no, she was right.
What the fuck was she thinking?
The whole point was for her to stop lusting over Tom… she had to stop channeling her sexual tension towards him, otherwise this would have been just a pleasant and extremely dangerous waste of time.
Hermione scolded herself mentally for a while, although refusing to do so in Harry Potter's tone again.
She was conflicted enough about the odd dream she'd had in the infirmary that night as it was, no need to think about it now.
This wasn't the time to wrap her head about her moral quandaries, this was the time to figure out how to orgasm. Right.
She let her hand travel south once more, relaxed and resumed the motion of her digit.
Up and down. Side to side. She settled on slow circles.
Something arousing…
Hermione tried focusing on the memory of Ron.
Ron who now had a slightly sketchy face but still had his broad shoulders, his warm and reassuring hugs, his eyes ... green? Blue? Well ... clear eyes.
Ah! Freckles! Ron had freckles, Hermione remembered how she liked counting the freckles on his nose, she liked wondering how many there would be sprinkled on his shoulders and back.
Back. Back ... Tom's back was getting really wide. It was a good thing because his scars now looked a bit smaller... Who knew how much taller he would grow... Hermione let out a slow growl from the back of her throat.
RON! Ron ... he was sweet and loving ... Ron Weasley, whom she had loved so much and who had kissed her once. Their kiss had been... hurried? Tender! Certainly tender... quite chaste… nothing to do with the way Tom had slammed her into the wall last year at Hog's Head. Too bad she had been to angry and shocked to...
"Oh ... fuck ..." The heat was pooling itself in the bottom of Hermione's belly in small waves. It was definitely working.
Where was she? Ah Tom! NO! Ron!
"Oh… Granger likes the bad boys now... doesn't she?" Hermione grunted as her thoughts took the shape of a grinning Draco Malfoy, watching her with amusement from the threshold of her mind.
His features came to her much sharper and neat if compared to Ron's ... perhaps because he looked so much like Abraxas.
"Uh uh… I'm right, ain't it? Look at you, Granger, such a bad girl. You do like the bad ones! You like bad boys so much..." Hermione increased the pressure of her finger against her clit and almost roared out loud as the jolt of pleasure pierced her belly.
Too enraptured by her feelings, she no longer bothered with the direction of her thoughts. If Malfoy was what her mind needed, then Malfoy was what it would get.
She would have plenty of time to feel guilty and ashamed afterward.
Right now all she needed was ... what was it? She didn't quite know, but whatever it was, it was beyond the thin line of the horizon. She could almost glimpse at it in the red glowing energy behind her eyelids.
"..so much, that you had to think of the evil Slytherin Death Eater to get turned on... you cheeky minx..."
"God, I must be desperate…" she mumbled halfheartedly.
"Remember when you slapped me, Granger? Be honest… were you hoping I would strike back, Granger? How much would you have wanted me to slap you back?"
"Ugh ..." Hermione clenched her jaw and met her gaze in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glistened, her lips were redder and her nipples two pinheads, just above the surface of the water.
Her skin burned, her wrist began to tire but she couldn't stop now, she wouldn't.
"But you are so perverse, sweet little Mud… Oh… not perverse up to that point eh?" Malfoy's trademark smirk crooked his lips and Hermione felt feverish, "As you wish ... you're so perverse, you don't even settle for the Death Eater, Granger, mh?"
Hermione's breaths became quick, shallow, she felt the sensation building towards something huge, something blinding, each of her muscles straining towards the sensation, ready to snap.
She tried to imagine the hand between her legs being Malfoy's. She tried to recall his expressions, amused, smug, haughty. God he was disgustingly good looking wasn't he? It was just so hard focusing both on the feeling and the remembering.
"Oh," Malfoy pouted mockingly in her mind, "Are you so stubborn that you'll cling to the faded memory of your hot childhood bully rather than just...? Oh, Granger… it won't do... We both know that the only way you will cross that line..."
"Is with me… right?" Hermione squeezed her eyes, cussing loudly, as the image of Malfoy disappeared to make way for Tom's sly smirk, much brighter, much easier to bring to life in her mind, "I can get you there, my love."
God, those straight, white teeth. Those leaden and ocean eyes. Not a fuzzy memory, not just a voice or faded images in her head…
"Just like that, yes… it's easier now, isn't it?"
Much, much easier indeed. Hermione could almost picture the tense muscles of his forearm, diving into the water of the tub to become her hand.
"Is it me you want to come for, mh? Almost there, my love… No one would laugh now if I said you were mine…"
No. Fuck. Malfoy, damn blonde git. I'll let you call me whatever just… get your branded arse back here.
"No." Tom commanded, "You're all mine, my love, you know that… Think of me… I think of you all the time… you look so fucking beautiful, my love… love you so much… so much… good girl."
Hermione felt her shoulders lift off the tub, so tense she thought they were about to snap.
The warmth in her belly seemed to be pushing her up, up, up towards some sort of peak, a very high peak.
Vaguely intimidated by the leap into the void that awaited her, she briefly contemplated stopping there. Maybe that was the best it would have felt, maybe going further would be painful.
But curiosity and her brave Gryffindor spirit, were cheering for her to walk the last mile.
The rhythm of her hand became frantic, images of familiar lips pressing against hers, flashing in her mind.
There was single fleeting moment of stasis.
A single beat of silence when it seemed that everything would be over before it could even start.
A beat of her heart. A shattered breath.
Then, gloriously, the orgasm crashed upon her.
Red and gold sparked before her eyes.
An electric shock that fractured into many smaller shocks.
Invisible and soft hands dissipated the heat in her belly, massaging it, distributing it to the rest of the body.
Pleasure. Simple, sudden and overwhelming pleasure.
"God…" Hermione was left spent and panting in the tub and feeling amazed. Feeling great!
So great that she couldn't even bother feeling guilty right now.
She felt like laughing, and she did.
Her laugh echoed in the marble bathroom, bouncing off the stone walls and the cold mirror.
Hermione lifted her index finger at the Hermione in the mirror, shaking it with somewhat of a victorious grin painted on her lips.
"God bless you, Lavender, you were onto something and I should've listened!" then her grin faded slightly, "And I'm totally fucked, aren't I?" She sighed.
He had already changed out of his uniform and was wearing gray trousers, a cream-colored T-shirt with sleeves rolled up over his shoulders and two-toned Oxfords.
His hair had grown a little beyond its usual length and his curls fell over his temples, framing his face and making the flecks of snow in his irises stand out even more.
The hairstyle was more natural than the usual neat style he favored for school days but the result was just as elegant.
Then again, there was something innately delicate and aristocratic about Tom that allowed him to look expensive even in his pajamas… as if being sickeningly good-looking wasn't enough.
Hermione almost scoffed as she glimpsed at him from under her lashes.
If it weren't for his ability to swear like a sailor 90% of the time he opened his mouth, no one would have believed he had been raised in an orphanage on Dorset Street.
Hermione clung to that thought to try and suppress the tingling in her belly, which only grew though, as Tom's eyes lazily lifted from the line he was reading to settle on her instead.
"How did you get Dumbledore to give me an O?"
"Believe it or not," She grinned, "You did that all by yourself."
Tom handed her his report card with a Cheshire cat-like grin and Hermione hummed proudly, giving one last glance at the string of O's on the parchment, before dropping it back in her bag.
"I'm so proud of you, I could frame this one!"
"Yeah… don't… Aberforth would hang it behind the bar and pester half the town with his monologues on my genius…" He slipped his hands into his pockets in a boyish pose, and blew a curl out of his eyes, "Need to cut these when we get back…" he mumbled.
"Oh! Don't be mean! He's so proud of you! We both are… we might even turn your report card into a Christmas decoration for the town square Christmas tree!"
"You wouldn't dare!"
"Now, wouldn't I?" Hermione raised a brow and Tom furrowed his in fake concern.
"Hey! I have a bad boy reputation to protect!"
"Don't worry, I doubt the girls at Honeydukes will stop handing out free chocolate just because you're a swot!"
"Well, I wouldn't want to risk it anyway!"
Hermione chuckled.
Tom rocked in place and sniffed slightly.
Hogwarts station was already crowded with students, and as the carriages arrived from the castle, more students huddled along the narrow platform filling it with excited chatter.
"What time are you leaving then?" Tom asked, acknowledging her trip to Paris for the first time since they'd first talked about it… or rather, argued about it.
"As soon as the train leaves I'll go back to the castle, Dumbledore will let me use the Floo ... maybe I'll stop home first, say goodbye to Aberforth..." She trailed off.
Tom nodded and bit his lower lip.
"What's up?" Hermione asked.
"Nothing."
"I know that face ... that's not a 'nothing' face."
"It's just..." Tom lowered his head in a dramatic bouncing of curls, hiding his expression from her and sniffing again.
Hermione took a wary look at her surroundings, then took a step closer, trying to ignore the fact that as soon as Tom's scent invaded her lungs, her face caught fire.
"What ...? What happened, Tom?" She asked worriedly, tilting her head to catch his eye.
"It's just ... well ... you ..." He sniffled again. Hermione's heart began to swell with apprehension and she patted him on the chest with her hand, trying to get him to lift his face. Was he ... crying?
"I just don't know… how you'll survive a whole month without me, my love..." Tom captured her wrist startling her and finally lifted his head, a mocking grin on his lips and mirth in his eyes.
"OH! You are a ... jerk, Tom Riddle!"
"HA! Gotcha! Did you really think I'd cry? HERE?!" his free hand gestured at the crowded surroundings.
"You're such a… gh! You scared me!"
"I'm serious though!" He laughed that rich contagious laugh of his and Hermione couldn't resist lifting the corners of her lips in a half smile, although still trying to look very much outraged, "You will probably fall ill from missing me! I've heard it can get bad! You shouldn't leave, really, I'm saying it for your own good!"
"I'll take my chances, you smug git! Plus, it's not like you're going home either, are you?" She protested trying to free her hand from his grip, concerned that someone might have caught up with the inappropriate behavior. The nurse had never looked at her the same since the night in the infirmary and she suspected the only reason Abraxas Malfoy feigned normalcy was Tom's murderous gaze.
"You could come with me! I'm sure the Malfoys and the Blacks have plenty spare rooms!"
"Pff! I'd rather go back to Dorset Street than stepping into Malfoy Manor!"
The words slipped out of her lips before she could stop them and Hermione hurriedly sought Tom's gaze for signs of suspicion or concern, suspending the struggle for her freedom.
"I can understand..." He sighed, "Bunch of pureblood supremacist snobs... I guess is not everyone's cup of tea." Hermione almost heaved a sigh of relief.
She really needed to pay more attention to what came out of her mouth.
"Not mine for sure! Tom, let go of my hand! Look they've opened the doors, you can get on board ..."
"One last thing!" he pleaded.
The crowd of students began to push towards the train doors in a flurry of excited voices, hooting owls, squeaking rats, croaking toads and shuffling trunks.
"Mate! We're boarding!" Abraxas Malfoy's voice reached them in the confusion. Hermione saw Tom gesturing that he would join soon and Malfoy nod in response.
She also saw Rosier rolling her eyes at the scene of her hand in Tom's grip and she blushed furiously, trying with renewed intensity to wriggle free before anyone else could have an opinion about it.
"Tom, you should really let go now." She used her free hand to try and pry his fingers open, but he just laughed at that.
"You don't think I'll leave without a hug, do you!?"
Hermione's attention was abruptly drawn to the pout on Tom's lips and she stammered empty words before managing an outraged tone.
"Don't be silly, Tom! Your friends will make fun of you! I… people are staring!"
"They won't and they are not. And you've been distant enough in the last couple of weeks, I'm getting my hug, whether you like it or not, then you can go back pretending you're not falling for my devilish charm."
With a firm tug Tom pulled her against himself and Hermione collided with his chest groaning in frustration at his physical strength.
"Ok! We hugged, now go!" She snapped pushing with both palms against his chest.
The butterflies in her belly begun fluttering in a murderous whirlwind of unwanted emotions, Hermione wanted to cry ... or press harder against him. Damn!
His chest quivered with a chuckle under her flustered cheek, and he finally let go, smiling maliciously at the sight of her face.
"It's just a hug, relax, no one will think much of it... it's not like you've kissed me or anything… not in a while anyway… want to make up for that?" he winked.
"You're umbeliav… the cheek of you, Tom! You got your hug! Just go!"
He giggled at her flustered expression and raised his hands in surrender.
"I'm going! I'm going! Have a nice journey, my love."
"Cheeky… arse… You have… journey too ... luv…" Hermione muttered gluing her eyes at the tip of her shoes.
"You have fun in Paris, but you wait for me, is that clear?"
Tom boarded the train without looking back before she could ask what he meant.
She knew anyway.
Tom realized that he had never really seen absolute terror before catching a glimpse of the house elves in Malfoy manor.
The little creatures rarely made themselves visible, they preferred, and with good reason, to stay invisible most of the time, and carry out their duties in the most absolute discretion.
The few that Tom had caught sight of, had been covered head to toe with deep cuts, scars and bruises.
Their liquid, frightened eyes, nestled in skull-like heads on top of skeletal and mostly naked bodies, were so large and bulbous that one would have thought all their energy would have to go into holding the weight of them.
Tom watched the creature tremble violently as it poured more hot chocolate into his cup, and almost felt bad for it.
He didn't feel particularly comfortable under the hungry gaze of Malfoy's mother either, and he hadn't even had a taste of the violent side of her.
He looked up from the creature just as it disappeared into thin air, and smiled at the woman sitting across from him at the breakfast table.
She smiled back and hugged her shoulders slightly in a very feminine move that made her chest bulge past the plunging neckline of her robes.
Lady Malfoy was a frighteningly beautiful woman but her beauty was cold and cruel. She was beautiful in the way an ice sculpture is, you could look at it for hours but you wouldn't dream of touching it.
On the surface, she seemed frivolous and cheerful, flirtatious most of the time, yet if an elf did as much as step beyond her imaginary boundaries, she could kill it instantly and without sparing the corpse a second glance.
Similarly, she talked to Abraxas and his friends as if she were cooing at a bunch of puppies, yet under the veil of her mawkishness, there was something dangerous and sharp that couldn't really go unnoticed.
The treatment reserved for the elves was clearly not an exclusive one, Tom found confirmation in the fact that Abraxas was always quite wary when his mother was around. He'd measure his every word and movement, trying not to turn his back on her ever.
The way the boy danced around his mother, his unconscious attempt to always keep an escape route in his peripheral vision, spoke volumes about the situation.
However, it was nothing compared to the way Abraxas behaved in the presence of the paterfamilias.
That was another story entirely.
Brutus Malfoy was far less ambiguous in his character than his wife.
The man was austere, cold and aloof. He considered his family to be his flagship and would not allow any of its members to disappoint his expectations of them, which were obviously too high and impossible to meet, at all times.
During Tom and Lestrange's stay, Brutus had not beaten his son, although, the tension between the two, the way Abraxas seemed to completely withdraw within himself in the man's presence (perhaps to avoid provoking him in any way), were sufficient signs of their violent history.
After the first couple of days in the Manor, Tom had already made several mental notes to get Abraxas out of there sooner or later, that or they would have to find a way to get rid of Brutus and keep the inheritance and the Manor for Abraxas.
The Manor itself was indeed, a true masterpiece of wizarding architecture.
It was paved with precious marble floors, covered with carpets as ancient as the art of weaving them, and the ceilings were so high, you'd have to tilt your head all the way back to glance at the magnificent chandeliers dangling from them.
The walls shone with pure gold frames, containing equally bright and haughty portraits of men and women with eyes and hair as white as snow.
The two-story windows overlooked a lush park filled with fountains, labyrinths, statues and absurd albino peacocks.
Each fireplace was covered with precious ancient carvings, each sofa draped in the most precious silks and velvets and everything looked polished and clean, despite the newest item in the house being at least a couple of centuries old.
Tom had enjoyed every room, he had even allowed some of his appreciation to show on his face or let his jaw drop on a couple of occasions. However, it had been mostly to satisfy his vain hostess.
Deep down, Tom had soon convinced himself that he would always prefer the Hog's Head to any haughty manor.
His and Hermione's room at the inn was certainly small, a bit dusty and messy, because neither of them seemed particularly enthusiastic about cleaning it, but it had the scent of home, warmth and affection that this manor lacked entirely.
Aberforth, waiting behind the bar, with his apple pies, his floured apron, dirty hands and his beard-covered smile, was ten thousand times more inviting than the cold and impeccably dressed Brutus Malfoy, ready to stab his own son, had he breathed at the wrong pace.
Hermione, with her warmth and sweetness, her hugs, her messy curls and the enthusiasm that widened her gaze and smile every time Tom asked her an interesting question or suggested a walk in the woods, was much more precious than any fountain or peacock in the Manor.
As Tom saw it, he was rich enough not to feel real envy for the unbridled luxury surrounding him, and this perhaps was what most allowed him to hide his too humble origins.
"So how's your research coming along? Did you find anything useful?" Mrs. Malfoy asked, pulling Tom out of his thoughts and startling Abraxas, who was sitting next to him buttering a piece of toast.
Tom managed not to look surprised about the woman even knowing about his research. Of course she would've found out eventually.
"I'm afraid not, ma'am, although I have faith that with the number of volumes in your wonderful library, mine could be a problem of not knowing what to look for rather than having nowhere to look for it."
Mrs. Malfoy gleamed at the mention of the beauty of her library and she leaned forward slightly, resting her tiny chin on her pale, delicate hands, in a confidential and quite malicious pose.
Tom noticed out of the corner of his eyes, how Lestrange had immediately lost all interest in the eggs on his plate getting entranced with the woman's cleavage instead. He also sensed Malfoy tensing slightly.
"There must be some clue that you're not considering, clever boy. Why don't you try me? I might surprise you ... I'm not just rich and beautiful, you know?" Her head lolled from side to side as she chanted about her qualities and Tom had to resist the urge to lift his lip in an expression of cringe and disgust.
"You are very kind, ma'am, but I wouldn't want to bore you with my unsuccessful ancestral research."
Also, I'd much rather not tell you that I suspect my father was a muggle-born, since I very much enjoy not being cursed like a fucking house-elf. He kept that part for himself.
"On the contrary, it would distract me from boredom, tell me now, boy." This time, the woman's voice had taken the stiff inflection of an order, leaving no room to politely decline.
Tom wasn't sure he liked being bossed around, yet he couldn't do anything but comply at the moment given his circumstances.
His stomach churned slightly but he smiled charmingly nonetheless.
"You see, I've been looking all over for my father's name, ma'am, and I can't seem to find that name anywhere…"
"Mh… and you're sure you're father was a pureblood? There's an awfully small number of us as of lately, 28 families in all of Britain, would you believe that?"
"Ridiculous indeed." Mumbled Lestrange, his eyes still plunging in the woman's neckline, not that she had noticed or minded.
"Which is why, I'm sadly beginning to think he must've been a half-blood," That was putting it mildly, "Although, my lady," He added, not rushing at the frown slowly furrowing Mrs. Malfoy's tin brows, "There are certain traits about myself, that leave no room to speculation. There must be some pure blood within my veins, perhaps on my mother side… but if I do know little about my father, I know even less about my mother, I'm afraid."
The woman let her eyes roam on Tom's face appreciatively.
She took her sweet time studying every little inch of his face and even ventured a little hungry glance ad his chest and shoulders before she spoke again.
"Outstanding physical attractiveness seems to be there," She smiled slyly and Tom smiled back, feigning a shy lowering of his eyes before returning to hold the woman's gaze, "And as you can see from those sitting at this table, boy, whatever they may say nowadays, it is well known that beauty is one of the most obvious hallmarks of any pureblood ... unless you're a Longbottom that is…"
The three boys all nodded in agreement. Modesty not being a distinctive pureblood trait apparently.
"Aversion to Muggles?" The woman asked after a moment of ponderous silence.
"As long as I can remember, madam." Tom replied, without mentioning how traumatic his relationship with Muggles had been to justify that statement.
"Irrational fear of pigs?"
"I've never seen one in my life, ma'am."
"Mmh and we wouldn't have any to test it, disgusting creatures, we don't even eat them in our home… the mystery deepens!" Mrs. Malfoy shifted in her chair and looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully, Lestrange seemed to snap out of his trance as the woman's breast disappeared from view.
"We were trying to trace possible ancestors through the physical traits of each family, mother." Abraxas offered.
"Quite right." Mrs. Malfoy's eyes then returned to focus on Tom, and Tom hadn't been Tom, he might have blushed under the intensity of that gaze.
"You are clearly not a Malfoy." The woman smiled, casting a meaningful look at her son's pale hair, "For the same reason I would take the Macmillans and the Weasleys off the list too, thank you Merlin, hideous blood in those families, I wouldn't wish it on you."
Tom and Abraxas both nodded, clearly they too had discarded the two families due to the obvious physical differences.
"If you had straight hair I would have said Parkinsons or the Averys... but curly black hair is typical of both Rosiers, Blacks and Lestranges. Though you're clearly not a Rosier, they don't look THAT good. Lestranges and Blacks… but they have blue or raven black eyes, don't they? Those eyes of yours, boy ... those eyes of yours are really hard to place ... so peculiar... couldn't be from your half-blood father… such a dominant trait has to be from the pureblood side… The Greengrass have greyish eyes but… that blue… "
At this point it was clear that the woman knew her stuff on wizarding families, she seemed to be a resource that Tom had overlooked, determined as he had been to focus on books, he had underestimated the human resources at his disposal.
Who could have known more about pureblood families, than a bored member of the highest pureblood elite? The woman had probably spent her entire youth studying England's social wizarding network as her only pastime while waiting for marriage.
It was worth a try.
"I have two more clues, if I'm being perfectly honest, ma'am. Maybe you'll find them useful."
Mrs. Malfoy gestured for him to continue and Tom complied ... again ... this woman would pay for her attitude sooner or later, he told himself.
"Well, ma'am, I know my name is the same as my father's and that has led me nowhere so far… although I do know my middle name is that of my maternal grandfather, Marvolo that is. Besides ..."
Tom dismissed Hermione's mental image, suggesting that certain details shouldn't have been disclosed to just anyone. He had to risk it if he hoped to make any progress.
"I can speak Parseltongue, ma'am, which would seem to indicate ..."
But Mrs. Mafloy's eyes had grown large and she cut him off before he could finish.
"A lineage from… Salazar himself! Oh! This is very intriguing, boy, and lucky for you," she squealed excitedly, "I happen to know a things or two!"
At those words both Tom and Abraxas slid forward in their chairs, their expressions filled with anticipation, while Mrs. Malfoy enjoyed a long moment of suspense, for which Tom would have gladly strangled her.
"Well there was a pureblood family, now nearly extinct as far as I know, that claimed ancestry from Salazar himself ... and oh, guess what their specialty was?" The woman licked her lips.
She was enjoying the distraction as much as the attention, that was quite obvious, although Tom would've much preferred if she had cut the theatrics and just spilled the tea already.
"... Parseltongue?" Lestrange asked when none of the other boys seemed about to do so.
"Precisely! And that's not even all of it... the name Marvolo, you see, it was actually quite common in that family."
"What's the family name?" Tom's mouth was completely dry by now and his eyes, as wide as those of the elves scurrying around the manor.
Mrs. Malfoy gave him a sly smile of victory, she paused, relishing in his full attention, she then bent forward, once more destroying any of Lestrange's focus with a display of her creamy breasts, squeezed between her neckline and the surface of the table.
"You should be looking for clues on th Gaunts. That was the family name: Gaunt."
The three boys were lying in the soft grass of the garden, the air was hot and humid and it smelled good, it made Tom think of home.
He missed home. He missed Hermione. Badly. He was sick and tired of the luxurious dinners and the ten minutes trips to find the nearest bathroom.
Tired of all the absurd rules of that too big and too clean house. He was tired of having to shut up while Brutus insulted Abraxas, he was tired of Mrs. Malfoy's eyes weighing and measuring him, at all times.
He wanted to go back to arguing over the extent to which it was socially acceptable to wear his pajamas, to steal chocolate from Hermione's 'secret' drawers, to learn the newest cusses and swear words while sitting at the bar of the Inn, with Aberforth grunting at the drunkards on duty.
He craved simpler foods. He would even be persuaded to eat one of the hideous vegetable pies that Hermione persisted in stubbornly preparing (or burning).
The sky looking back at the three boys was so full of stars that it seemed inlaid with pure silver threads. The moon, a perfect round shape above their heads, so big it felt like you could touch it just by reaching out your hand.
Tom took a swing from the Firewhiskey bottle they had sneaked out, he passed it over to Malfoy.
"I think ..." the boy said, struggling to get the words out, as if there had been something big blocking his throat, "I think my dad signed my betrothal."
"Oh." Said Lestrange propping himself up on his elbows to glance at the blonde boy.
"Do we ... know her? Is she one of us?" Tom asked, taking the bottle back.
Malfoy shook his head in his peripheral vision.
"I ... I don't know. He hasn't told me yet."
"Well that sucks…" muttered Lestrange returning his gaze to the sky.
"Are you ok?" asked Tom.
Again Malfoy shook his head and Tom turned to really look at him.
Abraxas' eyes were bright and big, aimed at the firmament as if they were the only thing preventing it from falling and crushing them all. Maybe they were.
He seemed so fragile and yet so proud under that infinite sky, with the tears he didn't want shed, dancing in his eyes. Something about that picture reminded Tom of a proud younger version of himself and a new odd feeling swam in the pit of his stomach.
"I'm sorry." He offered, and oddly enough, he found those words to be true.
"Do you think I could come to the Black's with you next week?"
"You'd have to ask your father... is it worth it?" Lestrange asked taking the bottle from Tom, still too entranced by the sight of Malfoy to care about drinking.
"He can come." Tom said, "We'll think of something."
Lestrange nodded solemnly and Malfoy whirled to look at Tom, a tear wavering from the confines of his eye in motion and trickling down his temple and into the grass.
"Thanks."
"'course."
Tom just shrugged.
"Pass that bottle to Malfoy, he needs it way more than you do, Lestrange."
"You can put this away too ..." Abraxas yawned, handing a particularly damaged book to Lestrange, who whistled off through the shelves.
"You could have any elf do it ..." Tom smiled, stretching in his chair.
"And deny myself of the sight of the Lestrange heir acting as a servant?!" He smirked, "I doubt he minds, by the way, he doesn't seem too eager to sit down and research with us ..."
"Definitely."
"If his father could see him..." Abraxas' wicked grin faded slightly.
"What about his father?" Tom asked, deciding he could take a break from research.
They had been bent over books for most of the afternoon already and their eyes burned from the effort to decipher the scriptures of the older volumes.
"Oh, his father? A complete nutjob... it might be because his family is very into inbreeding, that's what my father says anyway. The only other family they mix with is the Blacks, and they carry that cute madness gene if you remember." Malfoy shrugged, "Combined with the Lestranges' well-known short temper, it creates specimens like our Lestrange. Poor guy, I can't blame him, he's even too sane considering his origins."
"I would argue that the same could apply to any of us..."
Malfoy snorted in amusement and nodded with a kind of defeated look in his eyes.
"Damn right... we're are all broken to some degree, as rotten as beggars and mudbloods. Sons and daughters of violence and abuse, unable to save their children from the same torture." Malfoy deflated in his seat and shook his head, "My father seems set onto molding me into whatever it is he wants, with the mere use of his fists, and guess what? He's still one of the nicest ones."
"It could have been worse, Malfoy, Walburga has been through all sorts of abuse, Avery's father blames his son for the death of his wife. Mulciber gets more beatings than a Bludger and Rosier… well she's too beautiful for her own good…" Tom sighed.
"Sure." Abraxas muttered, "Lestrange's father uses Imperio on his own son and that's probably still better than Nott, who gets crucioed whenever his mother is in the wrong mood. But you know what? Thinking that it could've been worse still doesn't cheer me up in the slightest, Riddle. Sure it could've been worse… it could have been better too. And how will I be any different from my father when all I can feel inside is this... fucking blinding rage."
Tom nodded briefly, enchanted by the immense sadness on his friend's face. He had recovered from the shock of his betrothal, but anger and frustration kept running wild in his system and Tom couldn't really blame him. If anyone understood anger, that was him.
"Maybe you were lucky in a way, Riddle. Perhaps, sometimes, I envy you."
Well, now that was surprising and a little offensive. Tom could have understood being envied for his magical skills, for his intellect and for his innate ability to lead, perhaps his physical appeareance (although Malfoy was quite the good looker himself)... but for the abuses he suffered? It was just ludicrous.
"Envy me?" Tom pulled the collar of his shirt slightly, revealing some of his ancient wounds, "Me? Believe me, Malfoy, you need to be a different kind of desperate for that." He scoffed, but the blond boy's gaze did not lose intensity.
"Don't get me wrong, Riddle. I'm not trying to belittle whatever happened to you, nor do I envy your harsh childhood. Frankly, I'm quite sure you survived way worse than anything I ever had to endure." He scoffed, "Although you'd have to admit that being tortured by your onw flash and blood holds quite the remarkable degree of betrayal."
"What I mean is, we're all fucking scarred and broken, some more than others, but at least… at least you've had your Mrs. Granger… You've had a chance at something a bit better. It feels like that made you stronger. Which, I don't know, might be part of the reason why we all cling to you, also, the reason we feel oddly protective towards her, even without you asking. Sometimes I envy that. Sometimes, I envy the light she conjures up in your eyes. If it makes any sense. I would happily give all my gold for something so simple and genuinely good." Abraxas cheeks were bright pink by the time he managed to get all of his speech out and Tom glued is gaze on the books.
"Oh." He cleared his throat with a light cough, it was strange how he didn't feel disgusted or suddenly nervous that Malfoy had just shown such a deep and vulnerable part of himself, "I ... yes I was lucky enough in that sense, I guess... I mean, I'm not the posterchild for mental health, but since 'fucked up in the head' seems to be the common trait in nearly all pureblood families ... imagine what level of fucked up I would have been had my parents raised me. She made a difference."
Tom offered a half smile and Malfoy nodded pursing his lips.
"But we're still set on finding them, right? Your most probably fucked up relatives… Far be it from me to want to change your mind, and know that I would follow you to the edge of the world, Riddle, but you may not like what you find ... what if you should enjoy the good that you have been granted... it's still much more than some of us will get anyway, pure blood and all."
"There are things… I need to know." Tom muttered and diverted his gaze, "Things I can't ignore."
For a moment there he feared having relaxed too much in the presence of the other boy, he feared Malfoy would step over the line and ask something stupid or too personal, he feared a Walburga-like situation could repeat itself. It would have been really unpleasant because Tom had developed a kind of soft spot for Malfoy.
Luckily, Malfoy just nodded once, stretched his arms forward and pulled another volume from the stack in front of them.
"Malfoy?"
"Mh?"
"You trust me, right?"
"More than I trust myself, Riddle." He replied absentmindedly, already flipping through the first pages of the next book.
"So, do you trust me when I tell you that things will change? It won't suck forever… it will come… your chance at something slightly better will come too, you trust me on that?"
Malfoy looked up straight into Tom's eyes and spoke without a moment of hesitation.
"Forgive me for answering your question with a question, but why the fuck would I be here if I didn't think you'd be the fucking breakthrough, Riddle?"
Tom sat up in bed and muttered an invitation when knuckles rapped lightly on the door later that night.
On another occasion he would have pretended to be already sleeping, it was late and he was tired. In this case, however, he would have made an exception.
After all, one should never postpone the collection of a debt, nor the opportunity to gloat a little, especially after all the work he'd done! He deserved to bask in his friend's admiration and gratitude.
"Riddle? May I?"
"Yeah."
There was a short, hesitant pause.
"Riddle, what did you do?"
"What do you mean?" he asked with feigned ignorance.
"My father ... he was, well let's say: astonishingly enthusiastic, not to say oddly euphoric, about my request to visit the Blacks with you ... what… did you do?"
"Forgive me, if I answer your question with a question..." Tom made sure his grin would be seen even in the dim-lit room, "Are you not satisfied with that?"
"... Of course I am but ... he… will… this could really backfire! You can't use magic outside of Hogwarts, Riddle! You could get in big…"
"Do I strike you as someone who would jeopardize their interests for someone else? Come on, you know me! If it makes you feel better, had there been the slightest risk, Malfoy, I wouldn't have bothered. I like you, but you don't weigh that much on my scale…"
There was another short tension-filled pause, then Malfoy released a breath and Tom saw him shake his blonde head in awed disbelief.
"You did something then… messed with his head…" he scoffed, almost amused.
"Did I?" Tom grinned, "Perhaps he was just high… perhaps a bit drunk!".
"I owe you one, Riddle."
"Good night, Malfoy."
"Night."
"Little Hangleton!" Malfoy gasped, a hand clutched to his chest and eyes wide open in a wild expression.
Tom, Walburga and Orion looked up from their books at the same time.
"What about Little Hangleton?" Tom asked, but Malfoy held a finger in front of him, signaling the need to catch up with his breath first.
"Phineas ... Phineas Black!" Huffed out the blonde, when the wait threatened to be too long for Tom's explosive temper.
"Phineas Black?" Walburga asked with a frown, "Isn't that a portrait on the third floor?"
Malfoy nodded vigorously and coughed.
"I was, I was thinking out loud upstairs, pacing along the corridor ... don't judge!" Malfoy blushed, "Anyway, the portrait ... Phineas Black, he started muttering shit at me, saying I was getting it all wrong and ... well it looks like he knew the Gaunts! He said the family lived in Little Hangleton!"
Tom jumped to his feet.
"Oh ... fuck ... Malfoy, I could kiss you."
"I'm sure Cygnus would be amok jealous, but if you can't hold back ..." finally, a satisfied grin spread across Malfoy's face.
"Well, fuck! I have to go to Little Hangleton, how far is that? Do I even have enough time? Orion, can you arrange a Floo or something? How long would it take?"
"Shouldn't be a problem, let me check." Orion got up and stalked towards the shelf housing all of the atlases and geographic maps.
Grimmauld Place library had turned out to be way smaller than that in Malfoy Manor, but equally loaded with antique precious and, slightly dangerous, volumes.
Some so interesting and dark, that Tom hadn't resisted from borrowing.
His trunk now weighed a couple of tons, crammed as it was with the books collected at Malfoy Manor and those he had gotten from the Blacks, but it didn't matter, he was sure it would all be worth it. The funny Occlumency trick he had used on Malfoy Senior was quite the proof of that.
It certainly wasn't every day that one could gain access to that kind of magical knowledge.
"I can't believe it! Progress at last!" Walburga celebrated. She leaned forward and closed the book before Tom with a sharp snap , "We still have a couple of days before you'll have to go back to Hogsmeade, that might be enough to actually find someone... isn't that exciting?" She added.
Tom nodded absently, his thoughts already running wild with possibilities. He had never been so close to discovering something about himself before. If he really was a descendant of the Gaunts, that would mean he was Slytherin's heir as well ... what if the last of the Gaunts had known about his father? What if he could find him alive!?
Cygnus chose that moment to enter the library at a brisk pace, waving a large envelope over his head and catching everyone's attention, except for Orion's, who was already nose-deep in a map and looking for Little Hangleton.
"More news? Good news?" Walburga asked excitedly.
Cygnus held out the envelope to Tom, he took it and tore it open in an instant.
"It's from Nott, it just arrived." was all Cygnus offered to Walburga and Abraxas.
"And what does it say?" Malfoy asked impatiently.
"What do I know, it says it's for Riddle."
"Well from the murderous look on Riddle's face..." Walburga trailed off.
"Found it! Little Hangleton! Not even that far… Should we start arranging the trip?" Orion looked up from the map waiting for directions.
"Yeah… I… I need you to arrange a Floo for me." Tom said quietly, blinking away his anger and occluding with all his might to avoid bursting into flames on the spot.
"Sure. I just have to figure out how many intermediate stops and ..."
"No, Orion, I need a Floo for Paris. I have the address in my trunk upstairs." At those words Cygnus was already halfway out the door and headed for the trunk in the guest room, four floors above the library in Grimmauld Place.
"Paris? Do you want me to go with you?" Malfoy asked.
"No ... I can sort this out on my own. It's not something that requires assistance. Do write to Nott though, and thank him for me, will you?"
"Will do."
"What about Little Hangleton then?"
"Well, it's not like it's going anywhere is it? I'll reschedule.. maybe next Summer?" Tom had other things to think about right now, Little Hangleton had already slipped into the background of his mind.
He had lived almost 15 years without knowing a single thing about his parents, he could manage one more. On the other hand, things with Hermione had just started to get on the right track… he would rather be damned than take another step back with her.
Not now that she had started blushing so delightfully in his presence. Not now that she would quiver pleasantly whenever he'd touch her. They were too fucking close to let Frenchie take his Hermione on suspiciously romantic trips throughout France.
Sure she had said there had been nothing between her and the French arse and sure, Tom had wanted to believe it… still… things might have changed… fuck! He should've never have left her for a whole month… and without even sealing any kind of deal first.
And what the fuck was she thinking anyway? Staying at Nott's with that fucking French boy?! Thank Merlin, Nott had been the one to see her! Nott, who was perhaps the only one in all of Hogwarts not interested in gossip. Nott, who was Tom's favorite after Malfoy.
Had any other student witnessed Hermione gallivanting France, alone with a man… word would have gotten out! And then… then what? God, he was about to pop a vein or something.
"Sure, as you… as you wish, I guess…" Orion folded his map and put it back on the shelf, a confused frown on his face as he reached for a map of France.
"What do you think got into him?" the boy asked when Tom left them alone in the library an hour later.
"Merlin, Orion, how can you be so dense?!" Snarled Walburga, "He wants to go to Paris! Doesn't ring a bell? Nott's manor is in France... Nott writes and suddenly Tom has to leave for Paris… You really don't get it?"
Orion kept frowning and Walburga rolled her eyes so hard they hurt.
"Who went to Paris for the summer? Who's the only human being holding any power over Riddle? The only one he'd leave a months-long search halfway through for?" She spat, gesturing animatedly with both of her hands all through her reasoning, "The woman he has almost driven those fucking Gryffindors mad for, Orion? Merlin, seriously!?"
Orion raised an eyebrow and Malfoy snorted in exasperation.
"Mrs. Granger, Black! The Assistant was in Paris... something must have happened with her, don't you think?"
"Oh, right, I forgot. Right."
"I bet it's not even a serious matter. Ridiculous ... mention of that woman and he drops everything to run to Paris. I will never understand what's so special about her..." Walburga grimaced.
"Oh, Wally, jealousy really doesn't suit you." Malfoy cooed as he dropped in one of the empty chairs with a smirk. The girl glared at him fiercely but didn't deny her feelings.
"Now, why would she be jealous?" asked Orion.
Walburga sighed, casting a meaningful glance at her bethroted. Malfoy laughed.
Abraxas has gotten under Tom's skin, hasn't he? Damn Malfoys and their big gray puppy-eyes... I couldn't resist a bit of bromance!
I finally convinced myself to read Harry Potter and the Cursed Child... I think I've opened my mind enough to want to read it thanks to fanfictions, if it makes any sense to you guys.
Before discovering fanfics (something that happened way too late!) and their magic, I've always been way too enamored with the original books to accept that the characters could somehow be rewritten, reinterpreted and brought back to a different life.
I must say that I am enjoying the book so far! Have you read it? What do you think?
Love, M.