"Amor, ch'a nullo amato amar perdona,
Mi prese del costui piacer si' forte,
Che, come vedi, ancor non m'abbandona."
.: II :.
The waiter twisted his mouth and sighed: books and notes took up the whole table, leaving no room for what the customers had ordered. Sensing his troubled thoughts, the couple exchanged a look and at once piled up their papers. The young woman brought the cup of tea to her lips, blowing softly on the hot liquid.
"Have you decided what to do after Hogwarts?" asked the man, biting a cucumber sandwich.
"I don't know," she replied, "I would like to stay there as a Librarian or take the Magical and Muggle Legends' teaching post but… you know my father, it would be a miracle if he let me keep on my studies."
"He couldn't stop you, Herentas, not after you found out Rowena's Library, not after what you found there."
"I know John, but he just thinks that a girl in my position have to marry a good match," she replied sadly, "especially if that match is named Malfoy."
John patted her hand and sighed deeply. "Well, he just can't ignore this," he said pointing at her papers, "no one can.
"Does the Headmaster have a faint idea of that Library's value?"
"The Confraternity is happy with his and Ministry's ignorance," she replied with a wicked smile.
They drank their tea silently, after that they resumed their work: it was rather strange to see a man and a young girl sitting in a tea house and talking about ancient poems, unknown and dead languages and the better way to translate them; But they didn't cared, because it was what they loved more than anything.
"You know," Herentas giggled, "sometimes I think I should do like you and live among Muggles."
"Actually it was my mother to take this decision but… well, there are differences between you and I: I'm used to live in this way and…" John lowered his voice in a whisper, "and I think wizards are arrogant. No offence is intended, of course."
"You don't have to apology," she replied smiling and turning her head to watch the passer-bys, "because it is the truth. Well, a part of it.
"My father would have a syncope if I go to live among Muggles…"
Herentas frowned slightly as she saw a young man running on the street's other side: he looked familiar, even if she could point out who he was and when she had seen him. Deciding that quite probably that man reminded her one of her schoolmates, she dismissed that thought.
.: ° :.
"Here you are, Riddle!" spat the man. "What kind of lawyer will you be if you are always late?!"
"I'm… I'm sorry Mr Morris, sir, I've lost bus," muttered Tom, trying to sound as sorry as possible.
"I really don't know what's happening to you, boy: you have been so distract since when you have come back from Italy! I shouldn't have given you that leave!"
"It was Catherine who asked for it, not me," replied the young man matter-of-factly.
Actually, Tom thought as he and his boss walked toward the courtroom, it wasn't the holiday in itself to disrupt him.
He just couldn't take out of his head that Herentas girl –and he was surprised by himself, since he always forgot people's name: every time Tom closed his eyes, he saw her beautiful visage, so young and fresh. It wasn't curiosity, because his nature wasn't curious, it was… he really couldn't name what was that… feeling? Sensation? What was that thing: he continually thought of her and she was like a drug for him that once tasted you couldn't live without.
Tom shook his head: it wasn't the time for such stupid, mushy distraction. They had to win suit, he had to be brilliant and show to that stupid Morris who Tom Riddle was. And yet Herentas's memory still lingered in his mind.
.: ° :.
Breathlessly, Tom got on the train and he leaned against a window to catch his breath back: they had lost the suit and Mr Morris had blamed him for it. He snorted: he would never defend some one if the evidences for the prosecution were evident, not even if the fees were high.
With a high whistle and a growing pistons' noise, the train left Leeds's station and Tom went in search of an empty and quiet compartment. After smokers, noisy children and mournful old men, he found an almost empty compartment, where there was a lone girl reading a quite huge book.
"Excuse me, are these seats taken?" he asked, trying to not let his mood interfere with his voice's intonation.
The girl merely shook her head; she looked engrossed with her reading.
Tom tossed his bag on the seat and folded his arms: he felt angry, but not as much as he would like, because the image of that girl was always before his mental eyes to cheer him.
The girl raised her eyes from the book and looked at the fast-moving landscape: she put her hand on her mouth and yawned, and then she was back on her book.
Tom stared at her incredulous: was it a joke of his mind or reality? He bit his lower lip and said tentative: "Miss Meridiæ?"
Herentas raised her head, surprised to hear her name in a Muggle train: she stared at the boy with both her eyebrows up, as if she was trying to remember if she knew that man.
"Ah, Tom Riddle!" she exclaimed, "Thank you again for your help."
"Don't mention it, it was just…" he muttered slightly embarrassed. "What a coincidence, to meet on a train…"
"Kismet."
"Pardon?"
"Kismet," Herentas replied with a smile, "it's what my cousins would say."
Tom stared at her, not knowing what to say. "So… how's your leg?" he said finally.
"Quite fine, thanks," she said closing her book, her forefinger between two pages as a bookmark, "Aunt Lia is a… nurse, so she had been able to fix it almost at once. My bike, instead, is a different story."
They talked about trivial matters, like the weather, how they spent their summer in Sicily and what they planned for the winter.
Tom was like spellbound by the sound of her voice: Herentas spoke with a soft and clear tone but velvety like the pillow smothering the prince in the tower. Her English was perfect –her family should be quite rich, if they gave pronunciation lessons to their daughter- and her laugh sounded like thousandths twinkling, silvery bells. As she talked, Herentas moved her hands, like Italian people used to do, but gracefully as if her fingers were drawing delicate flowers in the air.
Herentas found Tom's company quite pleasant: he had an average culture and a lot of common sense; maybe he was a bit closed-minded. Her dorm-mate, Sivinka Snape, would call him a middleclass bored dandy and a little provincial. Actually, Herentas said to herself, no one of her dorm-mates would ever bless a Muggle with their attention. She thought about how her paternal and maternal relatives were different: the Meridiæ were proud of their blood's purity and to be Salazar Slytherin descendants –if it hadn't to be kept hush-hush, surely Lord Meridiæ would have imposed his ancestor will to the whole Hogwarts. The Traos, instead, were used to threat Muggles with the respect of a good master toward his servant.
"What were you reading?" Tom asked curiously as he sat at her side.
She showed him the book's cover. "Dante's Divina Commedia, he's one of my favourite authors," she replied with a smile, and then she opened the book and began to read from where she had stopped.
E quella a me: «Nessun maggior dolore
Che ricordarsi del tempo felice
Ne la miseria; e ciò sa 'l tuo dottore.
Ma s'a conoscer la prima radice
Del nostro amor tu hai cotanto affetto,
Dirò come colui che piange e dice.
Noi leggiavamo un giorno per diletto
Di Lancialotto come amor lo strinse;
Soli eravamo e sanza alcun sospetto.
Per più fiate li occhi ci sospinse
Quella lettura, e scolorocci il viso;
Ma solo un punto fu quel che ci vinse.
Quando leggemmo il disiato riso
Esser basciato da cotanto amante,
Questi, che mai da me non fia diviso,
La bocca mi basciò tutto tremante.
Galeotto fu 'l libro e chi lo scrisse:
Quel giorno più non vi leggemmo avante».
"I just adore Paolo and Francesca's story," she whispered with a dreamlike smile, "it is so deep, so passionate, an undying love stronger than Hell and-"
"Er… I am sorry, but I don't understand Italian," Tom said puzzled and embarrassed.
Herentas blinked at him. "You don't have to, I may try to translate and paraphrase it." She pursed her lips, reading under her breath the passage and then she said. "And she –that is Francesca- told me: 'there is no greater sorrow that remembering happy days in a time of pain and sadness, and your master –that is Virgil- knows it.
'But if you wish to know the reasons of our love, I'll tell you as his -here she means Paolo, her lover- tears do.
'One day we were reading about how Lancelot du Lac felt in love with Queen Guinevere. We were alone and we didn't suspected of what was going to happen.
'More than one time that reading made our eyes meet and turned us pale, but only one passage made us confess our mutual love.
'When we read about Lancelot kissing Guinevere's smiling mouth, he, who will never be parted from me, trembling kissed mine. The book and its author were our procurers: since that day we didn't read beyond.'
"Isn't it touc-"
His lips cut off Herentas's words, as Tom boldly leaned forwardand kissed her.
.: ° :.
A/N: the verses are taken from Divina Commedia,Hell's V canto, by Dante Alighieri