Disclaimer: Get the idea into your head. I don't own it. Now move on.
The Letter P
Chapter Fifty: P is for Platonic
Tom took a breath. "Apology accepted."
Ginny's beam reached her ears. "Can I go now?" she teased.
The Head Boy shrugged indifferently, and the redhead at the bottom of his stairs skipped away, grinning as though her birthday had come early. She hadn't lost him yet.
xxx
"You're cheerful today," Grace noted as Ginny came out of the shower, her pyjamas slightly damp, towel in hand, drying her hair. "What have you done wrong?"
Ginny shot her friend a look. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, acting highly affronted.
"Well, I just haven't seen you this happy since that time that you held the bust of Godric Gryffindor at ransom for ten ounces of Honeydukes chocolate," Grace pointed out.
"I still can't believe they followed through with that." Ginny tutted, shaking her head. She grabbed a brush and began to attack her head.
"And you're brushing your hair," Grace commented, blue eyes widened. "Wow. How many ounces did you ask for this time?"
Ginny set down the brush, deciding it was pointless. Instead, she grabbed a small elastic band and pulled her hair up into it, high atop her head.
"You know that's never going to come out, don't you?" said Grace conversationally, flipping up her latest book, having finished The Rock Talks the previous day. This one was called For Those Of Us, whose cover depicted a small curly-haired girl in a boat.
"Whatever." Ginny pulled on her pink poodle-skirt, perfectly aware that it clashed horribly with her hair. Did she honestly give a damn? She smoothed a wrinkle out of the ribbon at her waist, and burrowed about for her shoes.
"So what's got you all cheery, Miss Peregrine?" Grace drawled in a stunning impression of Professor Rowney, the Astronomy teacher. "Ooh. Here's a thought. Today's Hogsmeade."
"I am aware."
"And…?"
"And so I have secured a person to accompany me into the village in a platonic and purely friendly manner," Ginny said casually. "And have you seen my shoes?"
"You got a date." Grace looked around. "Which shoes?"
Ginny paused. "No. It is not a date."
"I see." Grace raised her eyebrows. "Can I inquire as to whether the companion in question for this non-date happens to possess a title rhyming with Bomb Fiddle?"
"Subtlety is not your strong point," said Ginny, rolling her eyes. "And where are my damn shoes?"
"Which ones?"
"The only ones I ever wear."
"Oh. Those." Grace cast an eye about the messy dormitory – the messiest part being Ginny's section. "I think that your bed ate it."
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Very funny. I need those."
"Wear something else," Grace suggested, disappearing behind her book.
"Aha!" The redhead dived under her bed, having spotted one her ultra-elusive shoes. She emerged triumphant, clutching both of her shoes, hidden under the swamp that was the underside of her bed. "Found them."
"Mm," said Grace, not really paying attention.
"I'm going to go now," Ginny said, grabbing her bag and her stripey scarf. "See you."
"Say hi to Riddle for me," Grace mumbled, waving the redhead goodbye.
Ginny hurried out of the door. She met Alden in the common room, who cast one brown eye over her appearance and raised a quizzical eyebrow. She grinned at him ("Hogsmeade," she told him) and then continued on her way, slipping out into the East corridor of the dank dungeons.
Her footsteps echoed; her hair slapped her shoulders as it dried into untidy waves; her skirt brushed her legs a few inches below her knee; she climbed the last few stairs out into the Entrance Hall, and then scanned Hogwarts' broad lobby for a sign of her 'platonic and purely friendly companion'.
Dark hair – no, that was Scott… tall – no, that was Ilivan Yaxley… Slytherin – no, that was still Yaxley…
"Hello."
Ginny shrieked, her hands flying to her heart. "Jesus, Tom!" she gasped, turning to scowl at him. "What is it with you and creeping out of dark places to scare me?"
Tom smirked. "Are you planning on leaving, or is standing in a corner all I am to expect?"
"Ha-ha-ha," Ginny said sarcastically, though for some reasons she was finding it difficult to stand. Almost as though her knees had dissolved. Funny. "I see you've brightened up."
One eyebrow lifted. "Bright is not an adjective most commonly used to describe my attitude," Tom said dryly.
"Well, neither is beaver," Ginny pointed out.
"That's not an adjective."
"Silence, fool."
They departed the Entrance Hall and made their way towards the Threstral-drawn carriages at the edge of the Hogwarts grounds. The one that Ginny selected only occupied a pair of giggly third-years, whispering and patting their hair as soon as Tom stepped in. Ginny recalled what Eleanor had said about Tom being handsome and highly fanciable; she rolled her eyes, knowing that she was going to get highly irritated by these thirteen-year-old bimbos.
The carriage rocked into life, jostling down the road. The bolder of the two third-years used one large pothole in the road to 'accidentally' send her flying onto Tom.
Ginny burst into laughter at the look of alarm, bewilderment, and annoyance on the Head Boy's face; he sent a scowl at her. This only made her laugh harder.
"Say, Tom, when are you going to propose to Nancy?" Ginny inquired loudly, on a spur of the moment to rescue her companion from the hyena-like third-years.
Tom frowned at her. Then, understanding, he said coolly, "I'm not really sure. I might ask her over the summer, if I can get her father's permission first."
The third-years gaped.
Ginny stared. "You'd ask her dad first? How old-fashioned are you?"
"Middle Ages," Tom replied smoothly. "I believe we've arrived," he added, glancing sideways out the window.
Following his gaze, Ginny saw the village of Hogsmeade approaching, still caked with frost and ice, not yet melting by the approaching spring. Before the carriage even came to a halt, the thirteen-year-olds sharing it with them got up haughtily and jumped out.
"Hah!" Ginny yelled after them, before slamming the door closed.
Tom raised one eyebrow. "Was that really necessary?"
"Of course."
The Threstrals ahead of the phaeton ceased their trotting, and stopped neatly in the landing area for the horse-drawn carriages. The one pulling Tom's and Ginny's whinnied, stamping its hoof and flashing scarlet slits of eyes around to survey the land.
Standing (he had to bow his head, Ginny smirked to see), Tom moved towards the door, got out, and held the door open for the redhead following suit.
"Thanks," Ginny smiled, stepping out into the winter chill. Ginny knotted her scarf about her neck and curled her hands into the material hanging down from the knot. It was colder than she had expected. Tom, however, seemed totally unaffected, so she didn't complain.
"Where to?" he asked, dark eyes glancing down at her.
"I'd say… Honeydukes!" Ginny declared. Then, seeing Tom's frown, and remembering what happened last time, she hopped in front of him. "Halt, Sir Riddle," she said in a deep, ridiculously macho voice. "We form a treaty here today – I, Ginevra Aiobheann Peregrine, sweareth that under no circumstances doest I re-attempt poisoning thee. Shouldst this accord beeth brokest, then I shalt cutteth mine own head from mine own shoulders."
Tom stared incredulously at her.
She extended a hand. "Now shake my hand," she commanded.
"Has anyone ever cared to inform you that you sometimes act bizarre beyond belief?" Tom said wryly.
"Many times. Now shake my hand."
With a short exhalation that spoke leagues (translating into: I'm mad for going along with this. She's crazy. I really can't be bothered), Tom took her hand and loosely shook it.
"Excellent." Ginny beamed. "Now we can go to Honeydukes."
xxx
The bell dinged noisily for the door of the Three Broomsticks, and two rather amusing-looking figures stepped through. One, an image of the walking dead – pale, dark-haired, dressed in black, and extremely tall; the other, the image of cheerful – scarlet ponytail, freckled, and wearing bright colours. Holding bags filled with Honeydukes' and Zonkoes' products, they sat down at a table for two, near the fireplace.
"Two Butterbeers, please," Ginny said brightly, dumping her bags on the table. She then turned to her comrade, who was surveying the crowded bar with mild interest. "What d'you think, then?"
"What, may I inquire, is a Butterbeer?" asked Tom, returning his gaze to Ginny's face, a slight frown creasing the space between his eyebrows.
"Oh, don't worry," Ginny consoled him. "Everyone drinks them. It's sort of frothy and gold-brown coloured… it's hard to describe the taste. But it gives you a warm, fuzzy feeling."
At this last comment, Tom's eyebrows rose almost to his hairline.
"It does!" Ginny said defensively. "It honestly does."
"I'm sure it does," said Tom, as reassuring an adamant child that the Easter Bunny exists.
Ginny gave a hmph of annoyance. "Just you wait," she told him, narrowing her eyes.
At that very moment, a sulky-looking teenage boy with looks resembling that of present-time's Madam Rosmerta (Ginny suspected that this was the barmaid's father) arrived at their table holding two glasses of Butterbeer. He dumped them on the table, and held out his hands; Ginny pushed two Sickles and four Knuts into his calloused fingers.
When she turned back to Tom, he was staring at her again. "Why did you pay?" he asked.
Ginny frowned. "It's not free, you know."
"Not that – I'm not stupid," said Tom, folding his arms. "I mean, why did you pay for me?"
What?
"Er. I thought I was being nice," Ginny said, confused.
Tom lowered his head, and mumbled, "I'm not a charity."
"I never said you were," Ginny pointed out. "It's not charity – it's buying your friend a drink out of kindness. If you don't want it, I'll have it."
Instinctively, Tom put a protective hand around his glass.
"Just drink it," Ginny said wearily, picking up her own glass and taking a sip. It was warm, but not so hot as to burn her lips, and a bubbly sensation, liking drinking shampoo, filled her stomach, lifting her spirits immediately.
The young Heir of Slytherin followed suit; Ginny, opposite him, watched him closely as he experimentally drank a small quantity of the foamy beverage. He blinked as it hit his throat. Then he looked up at Ginny in surprise.
"Well?" Ginny demanded. "Warm fuzzy feeling?"
Seeming to consider the question for a moment, Tom eventually said, "It's nice."
"I told you so!" Ginny declared happily. "Warm fuzzy feeling! Warm fuzzy feeling!"
After a long series of interrogations, Tom reluctantly agreed, before obstinately saying that it would never happen again. They finished their drinks (Ginny, in the meantime, consuming her own body-weight in salted peanuts provided on the polished wooden table) and returned to the cold outside world.
"Eh, it's freezing," said Ginny, chattering her teeth. She wished she'd brought a coat other than the fluffy purple jumper that Eleanor had given her for her birthday.
Without the slightest pause in hesitation or uncertainty, Tom shrugged off his shabby black cloak and handed it to her, laying it gracefully over the back of his hand.
"But-" Ginny moved her eyes from Tom's face to the cloak, unsure if this was really happening – the future Dark Lord being chivalrous and selfless.
Then said future Dark Lord, seeing that she wasn't going to do anything with it, draped it over her thin shoulders, before stepping back and motioning with his head down the road, in a let's go signal.
Ginny, still not sure that this was real, trotted obediently after him. The cloak was so big that it completely enveloped her, trailing behind her on the ground like a wedding train. She pushed her cold arms into the sleeves (the hem was flapping a good few inches past her fingers), and then picked up the end of the cloak to stop it from getting muddy and wet on the dirt, hurrying after the Head Boy, who was walking a lot faster than she was.
"Um," she said, "thank you, Tom." The robe was at least three sizes too big for her, but it was so warm that you'd think that Tom Riddle was a human furnace.
Until, of course, he started speaking to you, giving instead the impression of being a human freezer.
Tom turned his head to her and nodded. Then a half-smile flickered on his lips, lifting Ginny's heart and thawing her better than any cloak could. And suddenly the redhead felt like words had completely and utterly failed her, felt like her stomach had disappeared… felt like she was invincible.
xxx
A/N: THE HYPERNESS IS ALMOST EATING ME! ONLY TWO CHAPTERS! AAAAH! ..I got stung by a bee. It was in my pajamas! What the hell? Anyway. Review! OR DIE!
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Next Time:
"Flourish!" the Hufflepuff chastised.
"If you don't shut up, I'm seriously going to EAT you!" Grace roared at the Hufflepuff, glaring.
XXX
Haha.