A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews! This chapter is from Tom's POV. Sorry it's late. I had SATs, and then I had my prom, which was honestly more like a rave than a sophisticated prom. We were all crammed together and bouncing like a moshpit. WOOO. Anyway. Enjoy the chapter. It's quite short…
Disclaimer: Get the idea into your head. I don't own it. Now move on.
The Letter P
Chapter Forty-Six: P is for Personal Space Invasion
Devin nodded at her; lifted his wand… The last word that Ginny remembered was a sharp "Imperio!" And then the world went blissfully blank.
xxx
Looking through weary eyes at the Prefect patrol list, Tom found that there was nothing at all wrong with it. Scanning over it one more time… no, it was perfectly acceptable. His task completed, and satisfied with the outcome, he set his battered quill back into its pot, and sealed his ink. Long, thin fingers neatly folded the list and dropped it into his robes pocket.
The tall Head Boy rested his head onto the top of the posterior of the high-backed chair he sat in, and stretched slightly.
He stood, straight as a pin, and decided that he saw no reason why not go and deliver the date-list to Professor Dippet right away. His homework was finished, having completed it the instant it was set; his new book from the library was proving rather uninteresting; and it was his free period. He might as well go for a walk.
Is there anything else needs doing…?
Tom's dark gaze skimmed over his bedroom, searching every surface for something that might need delivering. Any loose papers… no.
Plucking the book that might as well be returned to the library from the top of his cabinet, Tom slipped through the door and quietly descended the stairs.
"Oh, hello!" said Fionn cheerfully from in the living room, surrounded by a gaggle of her disruptive, peculiar, and immensely stupid companions. She beamed at him, knowing without a doubt that being friendly and cheery would irritate him endlessly.
The seventeen-year-old male eyed them apprehensively. Then, with a curt nod, he said frostily, "'Afternoon." He missed out the 'good'. What was good about having to acknowledge and greet the existence of Fionn and her idiotic comrades? Without waiting for anything else to happen – at worst, the conversation being continued – he swept from the Head common room, black robes snapping at his ankles.
He made his way briskly but smoothly through the long, winding corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He knew every tapestry, every statue… and, more importantly, what secret tunnels lay behind them.
Stepping surreptitiously into one of said tunnels, he navigated a reliable short-cut to the office of Headmaster Dippet. The passageways were dimly lit by torches of flickering fire, suspended on the walls in metal brackets.
One minute later – perhaps two – Tom emerged down the corridor from Dippet's office, from behind a painting of two snakes, biting each other's heads off.
Ironic, he mused to himself, his eyes flashing upon the image, before he moved on, forwards with his journey.
"Ancillary," Tom told the two stone gargoyles. Of course, a dictator such as Armando Dippet would have his office password being a word meaning in a position of lesser importance, so quote said dictator. "Head business."
The gargoyles grumbled and muttered in response, before allowing a twisting staircase to appear in the wall. Tom headed up it, his footsteps echoing lightly and reverberating against the stone walls. The steps came to an end and there, at the end, was the expensive, carved oak door, emblazoned with the intricately-chiselled name of Headmaster Armando Dippet, 1934-1959. As if somehow anyone had forgotten.
Tom lifted a knuckle and rapped smartly on the wood. "Professor Dippet, sir," he said, not raising his voice a single decibel, but his clear, accent-laced voice carrying.
"Ah." A pause. A shuffling of papers. "Yes… yes, come in, Tom."
The Head Boy's eyes narrowed. Don't call me Tom. Relaxing his face into a smooth, impassive mask, he pushed the door open and stepped into the office.
Merle, Dippet's Augurey, hooted at him morosely.
Be quiet, you blasted bird.
"Yes, Tom?" Dippet surveyed him from over the tops of his spectacles. "Is there something you want?"
Hiding every ounce of I hate you throbbing within his head, Tom said smoothly, "No, sir. I have the Prefect patrol list for you to check over."
"Ah. Well done."
Do I look as though I'm five years old?
Tom withdrew the folded parchment from the pocket of his robes and held it out loosely to the Headmaster. Dippet took it from his fingers, glanced at the lines of miniscule, neat italics, and then set it down on his desk.
"Is that all?" Dippet asked conversationally, though his tone was distinctly uninterested.
"Yes, sir."
"Very well. Off you go, then, Tom," Dippet shooed him away.
Wanting to leave as quickly as possible, Tom turned and moved smartly towards the door-
"Hang on – are you going in the direction of Professor Devin?"
Tom glared at the back of the door, his lips thinning. Flattening the features of his strong-jawed face, he swivelled back to face Dippet. "No, sir," he said flatly. "I'm going to the library, and then returning to the Head dormitories. I have work to do."
"Oh." Dippet looked rather put-out. "Say do you think that you could possibly go on a detour to the library… maybe deliver some papers to Professor Devin, I promised I'd get these in to him as soon as possible." He held up a large sheaf of papers.
"I'm afraid that I do have quite a lot of work to do," Tom said untruthfully.
"Not too much, I don't think?" said Dippet hopefully, pushing the parchment towards his student.
Dark eyes narrowed. What part of I do not want to be your paper boy could Dippet not understand?
"Go on, then, Tom," said Dippet cheerily. He gave a wry smile, and then flapped open a large, dusty-looking book.
The Head Boy grasped the bundle of documents from the front of Dippet's desk, slid them on top of the book he was returning to the library, and then, not waiting for anything else to be asked of him, left.
As he moved down the curving steps, he boredly drew his wand and inspected it. He hadn't polished it in years… he didn't think it ever had been polished. It was smeared with fingerprints and traces of ink; the tiniest stump of bright, bold red was poking out of the bottom.
Imbecilic feather.
Tom pushed the phoenix feather back into place, made sure that it was secure, and then dropped the wand into his pocket. Walking quickly through the castle, he made his way down to the fifth floor, fiddling absent-mindedly with the shabby hem of his sleeve as he did so.
Soon, the corridor came into view around a corner, and, near the end, the wooden door that Tom recalled to be marked with a sign reading Defence Against the Dark Arts – Professor Michelangelo R. Devin. There was noise from within that the Head Boy couldn't identify. He slowed as he approached the room.
"Professor Devin, sir," he said to the door, knocking lightly on the wood beside the bronze plaque.
No-one answered. Noises were still coming from within. He briefly pondered the chance that they were doing something dangerous that shouldn't be interrupted.
Nonsense. It isn't the seventh-years in there… how dangerous could it be?
More dangerous, it turned out, than Tom could ever have imagined.
For him, at least.
After another knock – and another – the seventeen-year-old male pushed the door open and entered the room.
"Sir," he said politely, "sorry to disturb your lesson."
He didn't see what was going on, though he glanced around the room. The tiny glimpse he got was enough to show a class of sixth-years all sitting, silent, doing nothing, watching in great interest.
Wondering to himself what they were looking at, he turned back to where, he presumed, Professor Devin was. "I have some papers for you, from Pro-"
All that he remembered was a blur of dark red. Then he was cut off very abruptly by something – someone? – he couldn't tell – something, he decided – not a person – because that would be classified as an invasion of my personal space – grabbed the sides of his face rather painfully-
It is a person, Tom realised, with a considerable amount of alarm as he saw round hazel eyes glowing in his line of vision, in fact, I think it's Ginevra.
-and then crushed his lips underneath her own.
All thoughts disappeared as Tom's logical, always-working, in-pristine-condition mind shut down completely.
A few seconds… no.
A few minutes?... no.
Maybe a day or two… who knew.
Then the someone – something – red hair, hazel eyes, heart-shaped face… Yes, that was indeed Ginevra – pulled away, and was dragged backwards by an unseen force… probably Devin… he had no idea…
Staring blankly ahead, not having moved since being… well, 'attacked' was the best word for it – Tom struggled to find his voice. Or even his brain. Everything, however, he found, was numb and not working properly.
"Mr. Riddle, I'm terribly sorry, she was under the Imperius Curse, just a test, you see, though that was not supposed to happen, I am sorry – what was it you wanted?" Professor Devin's voice was ringing as though from very far away.
Stiff. But somehow not frozen enough to stick his hand out. The hand holding the papers.
Devin took them. "Oh, yes, thank you! Tell Professor Dippet I send my thanks and regards; or maybe I'll do it myself. I am sorry, Mr. Riddle…" a pause. "Mr. Riddle, are you alright?"
Something woke up in Tom's brain.
He's talking to you.
"Er. Yes… yes, I'm – I'm fine," Tom heard himself say, and, as though he was outside of his body and watching his actions from a long distance away, he felt himself turn and move blindly out of the door.
Then, where no-one was watching, where nowhere could see the Great and Mighty Tom Riddle lose control, where no-one could see the unbreakable break, he stumbled, nearly fell over, and had to lean against a wall to regain his suddenly short and very shallow breath.
Breathe in… breathe out… breathe in… breathe out…
The feel of her lips on his lingered. He couldn't shake the feeling pounding through his head. Maybe she… no, it was improbable. She couldn't possibly… could she?
Don't be ridiculous.
He still entertained a secret thought, however, of a beautiful red-haired girl coming up to him and telling him that it wasn't all the Imperius, that there was something there for her too-
Laughter echoed from inside the Defence Against the Dark Arts. In the back of his mind, Tom vaguely realised that the shock must have passed – she must have become conscious of what she'd done.
For the first time in what was probably… approximately nine years – Tom felt himself go completely red. Then, his brain still dead, his muscles numb, and his lips stinging, he walked away as though absolutely nothing had happened.
xxx
A/N: Awww. How sweet. He went red. Sorry if it isn't exactly what you wanted. The next few chapters are very sad… wah. Please review!
XXX
Next Time:
"Not that big a deal?!" Ginny screeched (quietly). "Grace! I just publicly snogged the Head Boy! And – and – in public!" she cried. "In front of the entire class! Which, I may add, includes Gryffindors! And Gryffindors will tell the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs! And then Gryffindors will tell Eleanor Fionn! And she'll – she'll tell the whole world…" The seventeen-year-old gave a low moan and smacked her head down onto the desk. "Ow," she complained quietly.
… No. He's lying. Defending his own pride. Because that answer is just… just ridiculous. Impossible. Scandalous. NOT TRUE. Ginny refused to believe her Professor. Because if she did, that would leave to the eventual conclusion of…
XXX
YAY! Review replies!
Kyra: Sorry, I calculated that before I realised that I'd be off for a week with exams. Thanks!
00jade: Well, we sort of now know what Svengali is… I do. You don't. Hahah. YAY! TOM'S POV!
The-Quoi: Hah! Your reviews made me laugh, thank you! AND YES, THAT WAS THE KISS. Sorry, not exactly a proper kiss. But that comes in… -checks calendar- six days time. If I update daily, that is. Bwahaha. Work it out yourself.
MadeNew: Yes, I'd have to say that there was a bit of Tom in this chapter. LOL. Yeah well, darn you review writer! Bwahaha.
creative-writing-girl13: Don't we all wonder? She didn't black out, she was Imperiused. You can't remember anything when you're Imperiused.
Somerdaye: Thank you! I hope the cuteness and Riddleness of this chappie makes up for it. Yay, I review-replied. Is that a verb? It should be.
Saene: You didn't sleep for a week? WHY? I need my sleep. I am not a happy morning person, and I go to bed early. Try to wake me up and I'll groan, slap you, and then roll over and go back to sleep. Yeah, I hate that as well. I mean, even Riddle breaks under pressure. But it has to be a lot of pressure. Haha.
DeadlyCreative: Indeed they do. As we just found out, no, she didn't fight it off.
Sb: Er… no.
Taylor Rae: AWESOME POSSUM! I love that phrase! I say it all the time. –squee- Anyway. Yes, I think that about Abraxas too. Well, doesn't everyone? And I assure you that snogging is fast approaching.
Faye8222: It happens a lot. It's not really that unusual. Thanks!
XxRandomHeartxX: No fear, I am alive! Yeah, it said in OotP that she was a good actress, because she lied really easily to her mum, so… yeah, basically. What, even put a stick up your nose? Ew. And won't people stare and be like, "Er… crazy lady says what?"
TurnSmileShiftRepeat: Yeah, that's where I got the idea from!
BDSanta2001: Here. A nice big review-reply for you. Oh no! Just imagine loads of hippies with peace signs on their shirts sleeping around the Black Lake in peaceful protest. LOL.
SmexiMexi: Nah, she didn't throw it off.
AppLette: I can't answer that. But thanks for the review!
Peacegirl: Bwahaha. Attack of the cliffie.
Courtney P: Thanks!
KayRose: Thank you!
Amberdream7: Don't die, or I'll lose a reviewer. Lol.