Chapter Four: Whisper in the Dark
Tom tossed and turned, his sweaty skin sticking to the silken sheets. For some reason he could not sleep. The air was warm and heavy and strangely alive.
He crawled out of his bed and walked to the window on the far wall. It revealed only the darkened turrets of Hogwarts and a black, starry sky. He had to admit, it was much nicer here than in the dorms, where there were other boys to prevent him from pacing the room.
Tom walked to his desk and pulled the diary out of its drawer. Somehow, it didn't seem quite safe there. Holding it in his hands, he continued his trek of the bedroom. Everything was still and quiet. Why was it that he could not suppress the need to be awake?
Fifteen minutes later, he had exhausted things to look at in his room and, poking his door open, he peeked out at the plush red sofa where Clara lay tangled up in blankets. Here and there a leg and arm poked out, as if she too were hot tonight.
He crept into the room and walked to the fireplace where a few dying embers remained. Sitting down, he stared into those embers, caressing the smooth cover of his diary. His eyes went out of focus and he sat very still, his body falling asleep while his mind delved back to the conversation from earlier that night.
Tom had forced his mates into an oath of silence about Clara. The last thing he needed was additional attention and people nosing into his affairs.
There was still the problem of the locket. He could it forcibly, but he had no idea what its powers were. It could be incredibly dangerous.
"Tom?" Tom swung around so fast his head hurt.
Clara was peeking over the top of the couch. "You can't sleep either? It is awfully hot isn't it?"
He didn't reply and turned back to the fireplace. Behind him, he could hear her get up and walk across the floor. She sat down beside him and rubbed her eyes.
"It's real isn't it," she said, and there was something maniacal in her voice.
"What is?" He asked, turning to face her. Clara's brown eyes were gleaming in the firelight.
"Magic," she whispered. "It explains so much… I knew it wasn't my fault I was hurting those people… it was the locket, wasn't it."
"You hurt people?" Tom asked.
"I can't explain it," she replied, suddenly defensive. "I would get angry, and it just happened."
Tom felt like laughing. "How strange," he said quietly.
"Yes, it is… This whole place is," Clara replied.
"I think Hogwarts makes much more sense than your world."
"I still don't understand why magic has to be hidden. It could help so many people."
"Why should we help them?" Tom spat. His face was creased in lines of repulsion and anger. "One day Clara, that world wont exist anymore. No more filthy muggles with their stupid orphanages and ignorant disgusting people. One day the wizarding world won't have to hide anymore, mark my words."
"And how exactly is that going to happen?" She asked cautiously.
"We need a leader. Someone powerful, more powerful than anything anyone has ever dreamed of. Someone who will make change happen."
"You?" Clara asked.
Tom turned and looked right into Clara's big brown eyes. "Perhaps."
"That's an absolutely terrifying thought." She said, observing the greedy glint in his eyes.
"Fear is power," Tom said simply.
"Then all it takes to topple power is one person who discovers that their leader is really just a schoolboy who obsesses over lockets and wants to rule the world," said Clara carefully.
Tom waved his arm. "Enough."
Clara gazed rather dejectedly into the fire. After a moment's silence she said, "I'm hungry."
Tom looked at her, and then his eyes grew wide. "Of course you are, we skipped the feast to talk with Dumbledore. No wonder I can't sleep. Come on, let's go down to the kitchens, I'm sure they'll feed us."
Clara stood and followed him out of the room. The corridors that had been lit so brightly earlier were now dark and eerie. Clara followed Tom closely in an attempt not to lose him in the shadows.
Tom led her down two flights of stairs which were cold on her bare feet and down the big marble staircase that led to the Great Hall. Here he turned left and went through a little door into a spacious hallway lit with many little torches. Hung about the walls were various paintings of food.
Tom stopped at a picture of a great silver bowl filled with fruit. Reaching up he tickled the side of a pear resting on its side and seconds later, the portrait swung open.
They stepped into an enormous room lit with many candles and fires and ovens. It emanated a warm fuzzy glow that bounced off hundreds of gleaming copper pots. All throughout the room, cleaning, sleeping, and eating were tiny, shriveled creatures.
All bore similar uniforms and all had enormous eyes and bat-like ears. Clara stood staring, prepared to scream and run away should the little creatures attack.
Presently, a particularly old one wobbled up to Tom and bowed deeply. "What can we get for you sir?"
"Set out whatever you've got Choppy, we missed the feast," said Tom. In seconds they were loading a long counter with every kind of food Clara had ever imagined.
Tom pulled a plate of treacle tart toward him and began to pick at it. He ate here and there, like a bird. After a few moments, Clara took a seat at the counter. Before her was an enormous bowl of mashed potatoes and within seconds she was eating anything within eyesight.
Midway through a bite of pudding, Clara realized she was being watched. Turning, she saw Tom staring at her from over a goblet of pumpkin juice. "What?" she asked, her mouth rather full.
Tom shrugged. "I guess I've never seen someone eat so much food in so little time," he sneered.
Clara felt her face burn and set down her fork. Swallowing, she said, "I thought you were hungry too, all you've had is that tart there. Looks like you've picked it apart fairly well. Find what you were looking for?"
"I guess I'm not so hungry after all," he said, staring at her again. "You can keep eating." It sounded more like a command.
"Not with you watching me," she replied indignantly.
"Why?"
"Because…" Clara said, searching for the words. "It's odd."
"It's rather amusing, actually, the way you eat," said Tom thoughtfully. "Your pinky sticks out when you hold things, did you know. And you seem to take a bite of everything without eating one thing all the way."
Clara thought on this for a moment. "I guess… I didn't realize. Never really watched myself eat, have I…?"
Tom shrugged. "See all those house elves?" He asked, pointing to the creatures who were watching them eat, happily.
"House elves?" Clara asked. "I thought elves were…"
"They are the most marvelous creatures I think," Tom cut her off. "They serve without question or hesitation, as long as you are their master."
Clara stared at them all. Collected there in their clean little uniforms, content with their serving lives.
"I think it's a bit awful, actually," said Clara.
"You would," Tom replied, coldly.
Clara shivered uncomfortably. "Well, let's go, I'm full."
They climbed off of their stools and Tom led the way through the portrait hole into the cozy chamber and then to the foot of the staircase.
"Are you tired?" Tom asked.
Clara hesitated. " No… not really."
"Let's go somewhere, then. Come, follow me." He set off up the stairway but then turned right on the first floor.
"Tom, where are we going?" Clara asked, sprinting up beside him.
"Shh! We can't be caught out of bed, and me Head Boy as well. Keep quiet," hissed Tom.
Narrowing her eyes, she sighed and followed him. The corridors were so dark the only thing Clara was really sure of was the floor beneath her feet. Tom was a ghost, slipping through the air before her, the sounds of his feet padding the floor nothing more that whispers.
Suddenly Clara stepped right into something. She was about to mutter in astonishment, when someone clamped a hand over her mouth.
"Someone's patrolling," Tom whispered, his hot breath tickling her ear. Indeed, Clara could faintly see down the hallway a small orb of light drawing ever closer.
Tom grabbed her arm and pulled her down the hallway, toward the light. He stopped suddenly again and pulled the two of them into an alcove. Clara was preparing to say they would surely be seen here when Tom placed another hand over her mouth and pressed her into the wall.
For a moment, she was angry but that faded quickly. She could feel his heart beat, his chest rise and fall. He was breathing heavily, a look of excitement on his face. Clara had a sneaking suspicion that Tom enjoyed this.
Suddenly, she could hear the patroller's feet echoing very near. Light was bouncing off the walls of the corridor casting shadows on the floor.
Tom pressed even closer against Clara in an effort to further conceal himself. His face was less than an inch from Clara's and she was suddenly filled with the overwhelming desire to touch it.
Then Clara saw an old man pass by their hiding spot. He was wearing a bright purple nightgown and fluffy blue slippers. Clara recognized him instantly as Dumbledore, whom she had met earlier. She couldn't help but like him. He seemed completely lost in thought and passed down the hallway and out of sight.
Tom leaned in, and for one incredible moment, Clara thought he was going to kiss her. Instead he whispered into her ear, "Dumbledore's much too easy." Clara thought she heard triumph in his voice.
Then he pulled away and a gush of air hit her body where Tom had just been. A familiar wave of disappointment flooded through her.
Tom stepped out into the hallway. "Come on," he said happily.
Quite suddenly he was bathed in light and someone cleared their throat behind him. Clara felt her stomach drop. She turned around into Dumbledore's twinkling eyes.
"I thought I heard someone," he muttered. He didn't seem angry so much as amused. "Tom, what is this?"
Clara looked at Tom and was surprised to find his face contorted in intense anger. "We missed the feast, as you know. So we went to the kitchens."
"Any reason why you might be on the first floor?" He asked, smiling.
For this, Tom had no answer. "Alright, well. Back to bed, both of you. I wont take any points, but do take care Tom. It would not look well for the Head Boy to take points from Slytherin, would it?"
Tom seemed to be writhing with anger. Without another word he grabbed Clara's hand and pulled her past Dumbledore to the stair case.
He walked in stony silence up the stairs until they reached the fourth floor where the Head Boy's room was located.
Muttering the password to the painting of the smiling toad, Boris, he stepped inside. Grabbing the nearest thing, which happened to be a bowl of licorice snaps, he threw it with an angry heave into the fire.
Clara stood very still, shocked. She had never seen some anger as quickly as Tom did. He stood, staring at the snaps which were desperately trying to scuttle out of the fire, his chest heaving.
"I hate him!" He shouted.
Clara bit her lip. "Tom, calm down…"
"Don't tell me what to do," he said furiously, and stalked into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
Clara stood for a moment, wishing she had never opened her mouth. Quietly she walked over to the couch and climbed underneath the blankets. Now, completely exhausted, Clara fell instantly asleep.
