A/N: A kid in the school I work at sneezed in my face, so I'm stuck with a cold at the moment. On the good side, this means more time for writing, on the bad side, I have to reach for the tissues before I even get to finish writing a sentence. That's bad tissue-reaching, people! We all know that there's only one good reason to reach for a tissue. :) Now, happy times to you all! Also: plot and characters ain't mine.

Chapter 2: Thoughts on Being Weird

Ginny has invited me to secretly watch as Abraxas plays football with some other guys from our school. Sitting ungraciously hunched over in the bushes, I try to avoid paying attention to the match at hand or more specifically: a certain blond fellow. Ginny has a tendency to talk me into the most stupid things. Two days later, I have yet to have told her of Abraxas confession. Awkwardly avoiding both him as the idea of him. Now, up to my neck in un-named shame I politely duck my head whenever Gin demands me to do so, in the attempt of not being caught.
"It should be a bloody crime to look that good in shorts," she exclaims with a forlorn sigh.
I sneak a glance at my redhaired friend as she admires the person in question. She's one of those people who seems to like the idea of being over their heads in love with someone: so much that you could die for that person and that person for you. As Juliet had been for Romeo and Romeo for Juliet. I've always regarded that sort love as impractical. To love a person with that sort of dedication appears to have the most painful end results.
"Look, Tom is there as well! My, my, he does not look too shabby either! Always good to have a back-up." She giggles and I strike her arm.
I already know that Tom is there. In his shorts. Since his frowning in the cafteria, the roles have been reversed and I have unsuccessfully tried to avoid him (not wanting the problem of the mischievous blond to be brought up). But he has been acting very out of character these last couple of days and actively seeking me out. Yesterday he knocked on my door and asked me for help with his homework - which he never does. Tom Riddle does not ask for help! His odd behaviour has made me very fidgety. A memory of him sitting close beside me at my workdesk, bending over to explain a problem of some sorts, enters my mind. He had laid his cold hand on my arm while his warm breath fanned my cheek, all the while I wished him gone from there - taking his overwhelming presence with him.

As the match carries on, I entertain myself by shredding some leaves from the unfortunate bush which we are hiding behind. Ginny doesn't pay much attention to me anyways, but occasionally makes remarks about the object of her desire or the match itself. I'm tired and wishing I was buried with my nose in a book, instead of stalking a boy I so far have put every effort into avoiding. Tom, being on the field, is just the cherry on the top, another addition to my distress.
It's not until I hear a remarkably loud "tumph" that I lift my head. Laying on the ground are Abraxas and Tom, both staying silent and regarding the sky while trying to catch their breaths. Others around them are screaming, but I can't make out the worlds.
I look questioningly towards Ginny, who with a roll of her eyes says that Tom ran into Abraxas with all his might after he stole the ball and they tumbled onto the ground.

"Tell your stupid brother not to hurt my beloved."

"Tell him yourself, you cow," I answer, not without humour. We giggle together and I have to put my hand over my mouth not to laugh at the absurdity of it all.
The ever so perfect Tom was rolling around in dirt while Ginny and I were snickering in the bushes.

Abraxas is the first one to stand up and rather coldly streches out his hand to Tom. I have never seen him staring so venomously towards anyone, but it's so typical of him to still act politely while doing so. He would probably help his murderer cross the street even after the murderer told him he would kill him once on the sidewalk again.
I see Tom reluctantly accepting Abraxas kind gesture and he is, in one pull, with both feet on the ground again. He sends Abraxas a tiny nod, like confirming him being okay while apologising at the same time. Saying "I'm sorry" has never come easy to Tom Riddle. In fact, I don't think I ever heard him utter the phrase, common for most people.

"He's so weird," I hear Ginny mutter. "Thank God he's handsome enough to make up for it."

I frown.

"What do you mean?" I ask, keeping the anger from my voice hidden. Naturally, I do not take insults directed towards Tom lightly. It's a sibling thing. Only I may complain about him until my tongue withers from the practice. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Tom's retreating form as the players dissolve from the court, leaving the mistreated ball behind.

Ginny looks slightly guilty, but being the opinionated and brave soul that she is, stands up for herself.
She begins her sentence with a thoughtful sigh, as she often does when being uncomfortable.

"It's just.. Um.. don't take this the wrong way okay Mione? - But he's not exactly normal now is he?"

She makes a grimace, like worrying about the impact before continuing to explain, "He's super smart for starters and while that's not a bad thing, it's certainly isn't classified as normal. For goodness' sake! He's smarter than all of our teachers put together! – Not that Slughorn has much to contribute with – that brainless slug.. Failing me by half a point.." I roll my eyes, having this conversation before. She sees it and continues, "And what's more, he knows that he's smart too! Sucking it all up like one gigantic blob, thinking he's above everyone else.." She trails off, so I interject;

"I sort of agree with you, on Tom being arrogant and all from time to time, but what is it that makes him weird? Being smart and arrogant can't be the only factors to earn him that classification. That might just as well be a refrence to me."

I'm genuinely curious now, not actually having spent much time talking about Tom with my friends. For some reason, that subject seems to be just a little bit of taboo.
Ginny regards me strangely for a second, like I'm an uncomprehending child she's about to explain something very difficult to. Or as if she is pondering whether or not to tell me something my ears are not entirely willing to hear.

"Okay, firstly, you're weird." At once I open my mouth to protest, but she doesn't let me talk, "No, don't say anything, you're weird - deal with it. Secondly, he's weird on a whole different level. You, being the weird adorable swot - him being the cold, weird, menacing Tom Riddle. You see? Different types of weirdness." She pronounces every syllable in the last sentence like I indeed am a dimwitted child and waves her hands around in the air, as if she's weighing the two against each other.

For a second, there is silence.

"I see, so you think he's cold," I say matter-of-factly.

Ginny looks apologetically at me.
"Yes," she pulls her thin Greta Garbo-lips to the side before continuing, "But I also don't know him as well as you do. He's not my brother after all."

"That's right," I declare, not really angered, but feeling that protective instinct take its toll, "You don't know anything about Tom."

Ginny just gives me a tiny smile, as if declaring the end of the discussion.

I return it.

When we slowly start making our way back over the school grounds, I still can't help but to think about Ginny's words. Cold, menacing, weird.. Is that how they all see Tom? Or is it just Ginny who views him in that manner? Looking back at that which I've heard being said about Tom, it is mostly that gibberish about his fortunate face and body which comes to mind. Otherwise, it is the not so rare remarks on his intelligance or the odd references to him and me being the Remarkable Riddles.
Smart Tom. Handsome Tom. Weird Tom. No more, no less.
It is not unknown to me, that Tom has a form of darkness living inside of him. A weirdness if you will, which sets him apart from other human beings. The extent and the certitude of that darkness I do not know, but I am aware of its existence. Naively, I just thought that others wasn't aware it.
Nevertheless, Tom is my brother and I am his sister. Therefore, we're doomed to love each other no matter which level of weirdness we happen to find ourselves upon.

As Ginny and I reach our lockers, we are, to my surprise, greeted by the sight of the boy in question. Tom is standing there, looking careless and bored in that very aristocratic and dignified manner. Objectively, I can see why girls would trip over themselves to get to him. A quite tall and lean boy, although not entirely without muscles (a body best described as being somewhere in between a smooth surface of a belly and a six-pack - just the subtle hint of it all). His eyes are grey like flint and his face cut out with chisel. His soft ebony-hair is laid in perfect waves upon his metaphorically blown-up head while his long fingers are drumming a notepad against his right leg.

"Hermione, did you perhaps mistake my notepad for yours?"
Typical Tom. No greeting whatsoever. He finds all kind of polite conduct to be a bloody waste of time.

"Good day to you too, beloved brother. I will shortly see to it, if you would be ever so kind as to lend me access to my own locker first."
Tom steps aside with a perfectly annoyed look.

"Don't let it happen again. It's quite easy if you put your mind to it you know.. simply open the notepad and see which name is written out. Or if it's on the front page – look there – your eyes won't even have to travel that far. And I trust you're familiar with the alphabet? Or are all those tomes you read children's picture books? Wouldn't surprise me the least if you were to admit to it.."

Talkative Tom is an annoyed Tom. Ginny just gives me that I-can't-believe-him-either-sorta-look before scrambling, turning her pale legs in the direction of the classroom.
Taking what I need from my locker and handing Tom the book which I supposedly took for my own, I discreetly look around the corridor to assure that we are not being joined by a certain blond friend.
When I meet Tom's gaze he lifts one eyebrow in that condescending way I've had a lifetime to get used to.

"Abraxas is not here," he says, as if reading my mind. Weird Tom.

Feeling uncomfortable at thought of him knowing.. well anything about that which has taken place between me and Abraxas, I turn my gaze.

"Why would I care?" I can't help but ask.

"The boy is in love with you. You're disturbed by it," he answers straightforwardly in that melodic voice of his. It sounds like an accusation.

"No, he's not. I am what you call a "passing fancy", Abraxas is like a little child crying out for his mother, only to find that he will forget her the moment she leaves the room."

Tom scowls.

"But you're disturbed by it," he insists.

"No, seeing as he is not in love with me."

Tom narrows his eyes before breathing out what little air he has left in his lungs through his nose. I always found those shallow types of breaths to be inexplicably animalistic. Like a wound up rhinocerus or something.

"Still, it must be flattering, being courted by the next best eligible bachelor."

I roll my eyes. "Let me guess - you're the first."

"Naturally. -Although if I am to delve further into it, I'm not really a bachelor now am I?" Something between an amused smile and a grim face marrying his features.

"There's always Bellatrix," I confirm.

"There's always Bella."
We're walking now and it takes me a while to realise that he shouldn't be walking with me.

"Don't you have class?" I ask, not wanting to hold him up.

"Of course I do, this is school Hermione."
I press my books to my chest in an attempt not to hit him with them. This new Tom has really been getting on my nerves.

"Do you have an aversion towards attending it?" I ask, exasperated.

"Not particulary," he answers with a shrug of his shoulders.
I give up and just ignore his presence beside me until we reach the classroom, there, he grabs my arm.

"Let's walk home together after school. We're heading towards the same place after all."

"Hell?" I joke, trying to shrug of his hand, which only leads to him tightening his grip. His gaze and his eyes are the cold ones of the old Tom. The Tom that is Mr Hyde.

"Hell," he repeats, leaving out all humour. I want to shiver, but force myself to laugh lightly. As I make those ingenuine sounds, Tom releases my arm and disappears out of sight.

Out of sight, out of mind, I think - rubbing my arm fiercely.

A/N: I forgot to mention for those interested; at the moment, I don't plan on writing from Tom's POV, seeing as I find a little mystery in a man to be desirable. But if I were to do so anyway, it would be much further into the story.