A/N: This is a very very interesting chapter. Do you know why? Because, my friends, IT'S NOT TOLD FROM GINNY'S POINT OF VIEW. Oooooh.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Though I wish it was.
The Letter P
Chapter Fifteen: P is for Passing Out
Ginny raised her hand to the spinning wheel. Harry- Riddle was still speaking. She could no longer make out his words. Hermione- She was aware of someone calling her name worriedly. Luna- she touched her finger to the spindle.
Vaguely, echoing in some distant chamber of her brain, she heard, "Professor!" shrieked. Then all went dark.
…
TOM
"Get out your textbooks, please," said Professor Berthold, in his usual monotone, moving to his desk and flipping through his paperwork.
Tom dug his hand into his schoolbag and pulled out his books. Looking through each one, he realized that he did not have a new History of Magic textbook.
Oh yes, that's right. I can't afford one.
"Sir," said Tom, raising his hand. "I don't have a textbook."
The elderly Professor eyed the seventeen-year-old Slytherin for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he waved his hand. "Go and find one, Mr. Riddle. Hurry."
Teachers were used to this now. Tom Riddle was an orphan. He had no money, and what little money he attained was from the part-time job in the Leaky Cauldron that he had been working, during the holidays, since he was twelve, and from the fund that Hogwarts ran for the poorer students. He generally was missing books and quills. The lacking of these items was not helped by his unpopularity, which lead to people stealing them.
"Where should I find one, Professor?" Tom asked.
"Er, Professor Gladwyn should have some for you. I believe she's in the room down the hall, up the stairs," Berthold said absent-mindedly, gesturing towards the door.
Tom left without a thank-you.
He slipped almost silently through the door, and started down the corridor. He was a quiet person, and he preferred to be on his own. Being around large crowds of people unnerved him, and that was why he usually ate in the kitchens, as opposed to the clustered Great Hall.
As if any large crowds of people would even want to be with me.
Unfortunately, his lovely room-mate, Fionn, was the exact opposite of him. She was bubbly, bright, friendly and was definitely a people-person. Tom's definition of a nice day consisted of sitting somewhere quiet, usually the library or the Head dormitory, and reading. Fionn's definition of a nice day consisting of sitting in the same sort of quiet, peaceful places as Tom – except that her concept of nice involved many, many girls, all giggling and talking loudly and eating and doing their hair.
Needless to say, the two 'nice days' conflicted.
And, much to Tom's distaste, Fionn usually won.
There. A staircase. A nameplate beside it read Professor M. Gladwyn. Tom headed up the staircase, hoping that this new teacher, this Gladwyn man, would have the textbook, otherwise he'd fall behind, and he didn't want to fail any of his classes. It simply wouldn't do for the Head Boy to fail.
The door at the top of the staircase again bore the teacher's name. Just in case you had forgotten, in the past ten seconds. The Slytherin heard loud noise inside and decided that he shouldn't simply walk in. He raised a hand and rapped smartly on the door, before standing back and waiting, wondering what on earth was going on inside.
The noise stopped.
"Ignore it, Ms. Peregrine," was heard from inside.
Tom frowned. Oh, brilliant. Peregrine.
With a creak, the wooden door swung open, and a warm female face appeared. She was quite tall, with curly mahogany hair and limpid eyes. Was this Gladywn? Hm. He had expected a man.
"Professor Gladwyn?" he inquired, keeping his voice flat, distant, and formal, as always. It was polite, and teachers seemed to like it.
"Yes, what I can do for you?" the woman said, smiling warmly, moving backwards to indicate that he could come in.
"I apologize for interrupting your lesson. Professor Berthold asked me to come and ask for a Grade B Advanced History of Magic textbook," Tom said, stepping into the room.
Keeping his face turned to Professor Gladwyn, Tom flickered his gaze sideways to see what was going on – the desks were empty.
A stage was at the front of the room, not looking as though it would fit, but still somehow managing to. The wonder of magic. On the stage, were two people. One was a female with a snub nose and bright blonde hair, who doubtlessly would be called 'pretty' by eighty percent of the male population. The other was Peregrine.
Ah. Well, that explains the noise, Tom thought dryly. Any noise is usually sourced to her.
Peregrine seemed totally oblivious to the fact that he was there. Knowing her, she was probably completely aware, and ignoring him. "Oh, look!" she cried, a look of awe coming onto her freckled face. "A spinning-wheel! I do love to spin." She put her hands to her heart, and looked wonderingly at the cheap, wooden spinning-wheel in front of her.
Sleeping Beauty. You wouldn't have thought they'd have chosen a hot-tempered redhead as the tranquil princess.
"Will you need anything else?" asked Professor Gladwyn.
Tom's eyes returned to the female Muggle Studies teacher. "I don't think so," he said. "Just the textbook."
"It sounds fabulous – I think I shall begin to spin at once!" said Peregrine from the stage, her voice happy in all falseness.
"I'll be back in a minute," said Professor Gladwyn. As she left the room to get a textbook, Tom allowed to eyes to flash sideways and looked to the stage again.
Peregrine moved across the stage. Abruptly she stopped, and her eyes lost focus. Seeing this, Tom turned his head fully to the stage now, a sense of foreboding filling him.
"Then spin," said the blonde girl, looking vehement towards Peregrine.
Tom knew what was going to happen before it did.
The younger Slytherin stumbled across the stage, and, swaying, raised her hand to the spinning-wheel again.
Okay, time to go.
In an instant, he decided that he had seen enough. Tom didn't want to be caught up in this again. If anything happened, Reeve could rescue her. It wouldn't be him.
He turned, and opened the door. Tom was closing it behind him when Peregrine started screaming, loud, long, and terribly high-pitched.
"What the hell – stop it! STOP IT!" shouted another female voice, probably the blonde. She turned to the door. "Shut up, or I'm telling! I mean it! Professor!"
Ignore it. Tom's hand was still on the door. Ignore, Damnit, ignore! He tore away from the door and hurried back to the stage. Do you call this ignoring? "Peregrine! Peregrine, can you hear me? PEREGRINE!" he said urgently.
She was looking at him, but her eyes weren't taking anything in. And before Tom could even reach the stage, she keeled forwards.
THUD.
"You didn't need to fall that hard," commented the blonde girl boredly.
Peregrine was on the floor – off the stage. She was sprawled out, on her stomach; Tom couldn't see what was going on. She wasn't shaking this time… she was perfectly still.
"Oh, hell no," muttered Tom, moving quickly to her and ducking beside her. "Peregrine?" he called. "PEREGRINE?"
"Ginny!" cried a short dark-haired boy, who Tom often saw with Peregrine. He fled over to her and dropped to his knees next to her, across from where Tom was kneeling.
"Hello, loser, we have to keep practicing. I don't want a detention, thank you," the blonde said irritably.
Other students were poking their heads out from behind the stage-curtains.
"Peregrine, answer me!" Riddle hissed.
"Ginny?" asked the dark boy worriedly.
"Ohmigod." The blonde paled. "She's not pretending, is she?"
"I thought you'd have realized that when she pitched forwards off the stage," snapped Riddle.
The blonde girl jumped down from the stage, crouched, took hold of Peregrine's face and started slapping it. "Wakey wakey, drama queen," she yelled, as the other sixth-years started to pile onto the stage, watching with a mixture of interest and anxiety.
Nothing. Peregrine didn't respond to the slaps; didn't move.
Not good.
"Shit," Tom muttered, losing his control over the reflexes that kept his language polite and formal. Screw polite. As Head Boy, he needed to sort out this problem – even if it was just Peregrine. "You. Stay here," he commanded to the other students. "I'm getting Gladwyn." He got to his feet and left the classroom, trying to ignore his heartbeat and how terrifyingly small Peregrine looked when she was unconscious. Also trying to ignore why he cared.
"Professor!" Tom called down the hallway. "Professor Gladwyn? Professor?"
The Muggle Studies teacher emerged through a little door. "Yes, Mr. Riddle? What's wrong?" she asked, frowning at the expression of Tom's face. She had seen him a few times before, but she had never seen anything like this on his smooth, masked features.
"I…" Tom suddenly knew that he shouldn't tell Gladwyn that Peregrine had a seizure previously – it would mean him losing his Headship if there was a serious medical issue with a younger student and he had failed to tell someone. He was not losing his long sought-after position as Head Boy just because of some spastic sixth-year. "I'm not sure. I think that Peregrine had a seizure."
Professor Gladwyn paled. "Has anything like this happened before?" she asked Tom as she hurtled down the corridor.
"No," Tom lied easily, effortlessly.
They entered the Muggle Studies classroom again; the female Professor tossed the textbook aside and crouched immediately next to the pale redhead on the ground. "Ms. Peregrine, can you hear me? Ms. Peregrine!" she shouted into her ear.
A few feet away, Tom hissed, "Ow" and looked down at his palm. He had not been aware of even clenching his fists – however, he must have been, because, bleeding, on his hands were now tiny half-moons from his fingernails.
"She needs to be taken to Madam Royce," said Professor Gladwyn urgently.
"I'll take her," said Peregrine's friend, standing to full height – which of course, still left him a midget.
"No, we need to continue with our lesson. Ms. Keefe, I believe you wanted to play Sleeping Beauty? Get on the stage, and start acting. Everyone else, behind the stage curtains," instructed Professor Gladwyn. "Including you, Mr. Philips."
"But, Professor-"
"Mr. Riddle?" asked Gladwyn, looking up at Tom.
No. No. I am not taking Peregrine to the Hospital Wing. No, okay? Get the midget to take her, he seems keen. Get Reeve to take her, I bet he'd come in and snog her stupid lifeless body and I'm not taking her, so stop looking at me like that and-
"Could you please take Ms. Peregrine to the Hospital Wing?" asked Professor Gladwyn with a smile, a note of pleading in her voice.
Tom met the Professor's gaze coolly. "I have to get back to class," he said.
Gladwyn chuckled for a few seconds. Then she turned a narrow-eyed, lips-pursed glare on Tom. "Let me rephrase that," she said to him. "Take her now."
You… Anger flooded Tom's system, but his face remained an aloof, clear mask of no emotion. The only hints to his fury were his flashing eyes and the forced 'f' when he said, "Fine."
Fully aware of the death-glare that the midget sixth-year was sending him, Tom returned to where Peregrine lay. "Move," he said icily; the students scattered out of his path. He stared down at the redhead, eyes flickering over her unconscious… and totally limp… form.
How the devil am I supposed to take her to the Hospital Wing?
"It's not that difficult, Riddle, just pick her up," said Peregrine's friend angrily. "Professor, I really think that I should-"
"Philips! Get to your place on stage!" Gladwyn said sharply.
The Head Boy turned a cold look on the small, dark boy, to hide his true thoughts: pick her up? You have to be joking. He wiped his bloody hands on his robes and then ducked down next to the invalid.
"You'd better be grateful for this," he muttered darkly to her unconscious figure, before awkwardly scooping her up in his arms. It would have been a lot easier to sling her over his shoulder, but somehow he didn't think that Professor Gladwyn, or the glaring midget – or Peregrine – would appreciate it.
All eyes were upon him as he straightened up. "I'll be back in a moment to get my textbook," he said glacially, addressing the Professor. "Assuming that none other of your students spontaneously pass out, my work here is done."
Not waiting for a reply, Tom turned and exited the classroom, cloak snapping around his ankles.
Peregrine was light, Tom found, as he walked down the stairs from the Muggle Studies classroom. It was hardly surprising, however, as she was extremely thin. Not in an anorexic-I'm-trying-not-be-fat way. She just… was.
There's something not right with her, and I'm going to find out.
Tom had done it a thousand times, as with everyone else - he quietly, to himself, observed her. He watched everybody. He enjoyed seeing people's personalities, qualities, and traits. Most people were very simple, and easy to read. Peregrine…
Ginevra Peregrine was different. She didn't wear her heart on her sleeve. Almost all of her emotions were hidden, apart from joy. When she laughed, the world laughed with her. Everything else, however, was totally concealed, and veiled behind those round hazel eyes. Those rare times when she showed other emotions, such as anger or sorrow, were fired out at high-speed, in explosions that no-one could handle, or understand.
And therefore she was a mystery to everyone, and her feelings twice so.
Tom knew a few things about her, though. She liked Quidditch, and was going to try out for the Slytherin team. She rarely brushed her hair, unlike the million other girls who spent hours curling it to perfection. She didn't mind getting dirty or mucking up her nails. She liked eyeliner. When she was irritated at him, she flicked her fringe out of her eyes without using her hands. She often became extremely cynical when she was drunk. She liked chocolate. And she was dating Scott Reeve.
So deep in his thoughts was Tom that he was startled into almost stumbling when Peregrine stirred. With the same stiff grace that he always maintained - he never fell, stumbled, nor slipped anywhere - he continued walking, unfazed.
His dark eyes were now fixed upon Peregrine's tiny form, suspended uselessly between his arms. She had barely moved an inch, but she had moved all the same. Tom watched her suspiciously; watched her short cinnamon eyelashes flutter softly; watched her turn slightly in his arms… and then become still.
She's waking up. I should drop her here. I should leave her behind a statue and get back to class. I'm falling behind already on Muggle Studies; I have to get back.
Tom wasn't sure why, but he kept walking. As he began to walk the long, final corridor to the Hospital Wing, Peregrine stirred again – and shuffled sideways, tilting her head down and sideways.
Down and sideways.
Into his chest.
Oh, hell no. No, you don't. Get the hell off me. Just because I have been forced to carry you doesn't create a neon sign above my head saying: I am a pillow. Cuddle meSo you can just-
However, rather unluckily, his train of thought was broken, because then Peregrine stirred for a third time – and opened her eyes.
…
A/N: Ooh. Did you like it being from Riddle's POV? I had to make everything more cycical, like calling Alden a midget and calling Ginny a spastic and stuff like that. I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks to my beta SilvanXan. Enjoy the rest of the fic! REVIEW! DO IT! NOW!
WARNING: Approaching plot-twists to make your head spin.
chimis: Thanks! I love yours, too.
storm-brain: What do you mean, what's with Riddle? D'you mean her always passing out when he's around? Thank yew!
crazedreader: Thank you so much!
creative-writing-girl13: Thank you! Wow, I must be doing well if I made someone tear up. –grin- Thanks again!
Asta-Amkis: I love your pen-name! I might use it as a name in here, it's really cool. Thank you and thank you! Enjoy the rest.