Jukebox Plays: My Skin, Natalie Merchant
Chapter 5
It was always interesting how after a while, classrooms began to take on characteristics of the lessons taught within them, and of the people who did the teaching. Potions, for example, were finicky and prone to explosions. The lab was set in the dungeons, sturdy and secure, and seemingly stronger then the concoctions created by it's less-talented students. It was grey and black, with a low roof that came within inches of making student feel claustrophobic. In fact, the only thing that really stood out was the desk of the presiding Professor Slughorn. The desk was a awash with little luxuries, fine and brightly colored- perfect for the man that sought attention for everything he did.
And the Divination classroom was no different. It was light and airy, with a high vaulted ceiling that trailed ribbons and sheets of misty gauze. Pale pinks and lavender, delicate china for teacups and frothy lace tying the whole mess together. All in all, in Tom's opinion, it suited such a foolish study perfectly. Divination had always seemed to be such a complete and utter waste of time. A bunch of formerly respecable wizards and witches staring blankly into soggy tea leaves; trying to divine the future instead of living it. Waiting for the warp and weft of the cosmos to ring in the changes they desired, instead of going out and making the changes themselves.
So naturally, when Tom opened his class schedule for the year, it would be Divination that was the first subject for the morning. Obviously a mistake, the small attached note informed him, that would be corrected within a few days. It was written in the tentative, spidery scrawl of Headmaster Dippet, possibly the most ridiculous excuse for a Headmaster that the Ministry of Magic could appoint.
Tom Marvolo Riddle did not squirm. He did not fidget, and he most certainly did not wiggle around in his seat like most of the other students in his direct line of sight. But one this could be said, for a classroom so entirely stuffed with fluff- pillows that were only slightly larger then a human palm did not make for comfortable seats. Professor Noseworthy didn't seem affected by it however, perched on one of the irritating pillows in some form of crosslegged yoga position. Her eyes seemed permanently glazed over, her thin body layered in lace and beaded what-nots. He gazed out into the little village of round tables that filled her class room, and gave a somewhat vacant smile.
"Good morning, and welcome to the first day of Divination… The fates have decreed that we shall begin our studies with one of the most well-known methods, being Tarot cards…" Here her voice trailed off, as she paused for a more dramatic effect, "Who would like to be first to have their future told by the cards?"
Tom's quiet desire to just tune out the class entirely was destroyed a moment later, by a familiar chirpy voice offering up four simple words, "What about Tommy here?!" The Head Girl piped up, giggling. The rest of the class turned to him, like a pack of wild gossip-hyenas, practically salivating for some tidbit of secret information about the habitually reticent Head Boy. Tom swallowed back a long suffering sigh, realizing two things simultaneaously.
One, that there was very little he could say to get him out of being volunteered into this charade; and Two, that he was going to have to do something about Polly-Anne Parkinson sooner, rather then later. Apparently she wasn't going to be content with just drooling over him whenever he entered their shared Common Room- she was going to make trouble for his grades as well. He was going to have to find a way to convince the irritating Hufflepuff that her place was with the rest of the dimwitted masses, and most certainly nowhere near him.
Professor (and he used the term very loosely in relation to her) Noseworthy waved him up to the front of the class with a limp wristed gesture. Her free hand was slowly and methodically shuffling a well worn deck of cards. They were larger then normal playing cards, more then twice the size, and bore a faded green Romani spiral design on the back. He made his way between the tables, distantly aware of the intense stares of his fellow classmates burning into the back of his head. Most people would have shuffled, or blushed- not Tom. His step never faltered, his expression never changed. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of letting them unnerve him.
Without ado, the faintly buggy-looking woman waved a hand over the pink clothed table that sat (a little wobbly) in front of her. "The first card is for the past, the second is the present…The third, the future. All must be read to understand the meaning behind the reading." She intoned, laying down three cards face up on the table.
The Wheel of Time The Lovers Death
The images were as faded as the Romani spirals, faintly sepia yellow colored by age and handling by Merlin knows how many hands. Professor Noseworthy studied the cards carefully, humming and murmuring under her breath, waiting while the rest of the class peered around eachother- striving for the best viewpoint of the cards and the Head Boy.
The Wheel of Time showed three women, sitting before a large, black spinning wheel. The first was young and beautiful, clothed in white. The second of middle age, robed in red. The final held a pair of shears, slicing through the thread that the other two tended. She was old, and her robes were that of black. Even though the card was faded, it appeared that they dwelled in a cave, the light out the outside world just barely visible as if from a great distance away.
"Leaving your life is a great change, and upheaval.- Weather for good or ill, we do not know."
The second card, The Lovers, portrayed a young man holding a golden apple. Before him stood three Godesses, though which ones Tom couldn't quite make out. They appeared beautiful to the man, but he did not look happy at all by their attentions. Indeed, it was the apple that seemed to be the focus of their triple gaze.
"The present is a choice in Love. A difficult decision, yes…very difficult." At this, all of the girls in the class gasped, giggling childishly.
The final card was a depiction of the Grim Reaper, standing in a field of grain. The stars shone overhead, the black f the sky seeming to blend in with the darkness of the Reaper's flowing robes. In the distance, the light of dawn was spreading over the horizon, though it had not progressed enough to illuminate the Reaper, or his hooded features.
"And finally, class, we have Death! Not his own, but the end of the life he knows now. How painful this ending is, Mr Riddle, is entirely your own decision."
Professor Noseworthy caught his eye, as though trying to peer around the walls the he had erected there. Fortifications to keep interfering busybodies at more then arms reach. After a moment, she shook her head sadly, waving him away with the same limp gesture she used before. The bangle bracelets on her wrists tinkled like tiny chimes when she moved, and Tom found the noise to be oddly jarring.
Rubbish, all of it.
He reminded himself. His future was indelible, set in stone from the moment he was born into the bloodline of Salazar Slytherin. Chicanery and nonesense, as he sat down to jot down finish the assignment. What do I think the reading means for me? He pondered for a moment, touching the end of his quill lightly into the reservoir of black ink. It didn't much matter what he said, as long as it was in some way logical. His writing was neat and precise, each loop and line perfectly, mechanically neat. Almost freakishly elegant and orderly.
I believe the three cards of "The Wheel of Time," "The Lovers," and "Death" refer to my graduation at the end of the year, and the many choices I will have to face once leaving the security of school.
That should do it. Give the teacher a bit of an ego boost, and she was sure to accept it. Weather or not it was complete rubbish mattered not a bit. It sounded plausible enough, while being dull and interesting enough to be passed over and forgotten. Why people persisted in trying to find meaning behind random cards was beyond him. A way of consoling themselves that the twists of capricious Fate were not entire random, he supposed.
Tom Riddle had never allowed for people to question him, or his motives. It was this logic that he plied against himself much later that night, as he made his way down the slowly grinding staircases towards the Infirmary. His excuse to the world, that he was the Head Boy, and had every right to check on the condition of a seriously ill or injured student.
The fact that she wasn't a student.. Well, even in his own mind he tried not to look too carefully at it. Instead, he told himself that anything would be better then the endless rounds of big band music that Polly-Anne seemed determined to use to drive him off the edge of the Astronomy Tower. Had she better realized the type of person she was aggravating, she may have been sure that it was more likely to lead to her being tossed off said Astronomy Tower, and followed by a quick and intimate acquaintence with the soil below.
The only light in the Infirmary came from under the office door, as Tom walked by as quietly as he could. Not that he would call it sneaking- no, but his reputation made sure that people saw him as such a nice, helpful lad; that he would be loathe to interrupt her work.
The moon was a little higher in the sky tonight, casting the shadows a little more sharply against the wall. The constellations were half missing from sight, cut off by the deep ledges of the high, narrow windows. And tonught, his footsteps made less noise, and Tom cautiously made his way down the centre of the Infirmary ward. The curtains pulled closely around the bed seemed to be unmoved from the night before. Surely they would be moved if she had passed away between then and now.
And indeed, there she was. As still as Death, and unaltered. Her long lashes cast faint shadows against the slight crest of her cheekbone, her hands still folded in unnatural precision against the blanket tucked around her slender body.
As he lay awake much later that night, Tom wouldn't be able to define the exact moment he gave into the desire of the night before. All he knew was that it was no less diminshed for it's 24 hour intermission. Reaching foreward, his arm the only part of him he dared to move. Or perhaps, that it seemed to move with a mind of it's own- to brush his fingertips softly, sparingly, across her hand. She was cool to the touch, but not with Death's clammy chill.
He wouldn't press Time (or Madam McAllister's excellent timing), turning abruptly and leaving the Infirmary by the same route he entered. His fingers tingled from the incredibly rare sensation of touching another person. And maybe tonight he walked a little slower then usual, stopping halfway down the hall to glance back at the double Infirmary doors.
And he couldn't even explain to himself why he was a little bit relieved that she wasn't gone.
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A million thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review, it means so much to me!
And Dri Almighty? Here's a longer chapter, just because you wanted it.
And Nerys, because your beautiful review came at just the right time to brighten up a bad moment.