Chapter 27: Mixed Signals
Saturday, December 25, 1944
8:05 A.M.
Outside the line of west windows the inky night time blackness was beginning to mix with the clear bright glow that signalled the dawn of another crisp, wintry morning. Anyone in their right mind should have still been asleep for at least another hour or two. After all, it was Christmas morning.
Obviously, then, Hermione must have been quite mad, as she was currently sprawled with her feet up across her favourite tan leather sofa in the Head common room, staring pensively into the dying embers of last night's fire. The smoking heat still radiated the few feet from the fireplace to where she sat, and she smiled contentedly, closing her eyes and snuggling up against the soft, comfortingly warm, puffy pillow that seemed to mould with her head.
She, Harry, Ron, Lavender, Ginny, and Draco hadn't planned to meet up in the Room of Requirement for a gift exchange until 9:30. All of her Christmas assignments had been completed, labelled, and filed away until school started up again. So she really hadn't the slightest idea why she was up so early. She heard Tom's door open at the top of his flight of stairs, and she lazed on, not quite ready to vacate the luxurious couch. She counted to fifteen, giving him plenty of time to get down, and then, eyes still closed sleepily, she cheerfully called, "Good morning!"
The unmistakable sound of footsteps on hardwood floor immediately stopped. "Morning". The stale voice that greeted her was gravelly and low, giving the impression that he was still half asleep but was already in a foul mood.
Oh, no, you are not going to be like this on Christmas. Hermione poked her tousled bed head up over the back of the sofa. "And a Happy Christmas to you, too— Are you all right?" She asked abruptly as she finally got a view of Tom... and he looked awful.
Not that he could ever really look awful in the worst sense of the word but he appeared utterly drained. His grey eyes had lost their defiant storminess; now they were simply exhausted and bleary, with deep, dark circles underneath them that were made even more obvious against his ashen face; his thick hair was a shocking mess and unkempt, and his robes were crumpled, almost as if he had collapsed in bed the night before still wearing them.
"If you consider feeling like you've been hit by a train all right, then yes, I rather am, thanks for asking", he muttered, tiredly shuffling over to her couch. Hermione pulled her pyjama-clad legs up to her chest to make enough room for him, and he sank down next to her, promptly burrowing the back of his head into the smooth, soft leather and closing his eyes.
Hermione faced Tom, folded her legs and momentarily surveyed him. "Well?" As the sun finally edged its way over the horizon, Tom reluctantly opened one eye and squinted at her, getting hit right in the face with the first rays of morning light. "Well what?" A small, secretive smile played at Hermione's lips, her eyes crinkling mischievously. "Don't you want your Christmas present?" she asked innocently, but her foot was bouncing up and down in the same eager anticipation she had whenever she gave somebody a gift and wanted them to open it, gosh dang it!
"My what?" Tom asked uncomprehending. He reopened both eyes and pulled himself straight up, regarding her as if she had unexpectedly turned into a mutated, completely new species of blast-ended skrewt — an anomaly that, in theory, should have never been possible.
"Your Christmas present", Hermione repeated with a smile. She reached for a small, silver gift bag that had been sitting inconspicuously on the floor at the foot of the sofa, and she handed it to him. "Here. Merry Christmas". Tom took the pint-sized bag without really looking at it, frowned, and warily searched her eyes, a small, almost suspicious expression on his face. "But I haven't given you anything", he said eventually, and Hermione didn't miss the amount of confusion in his tone that he was trying —and failing— to hide.
"I know". Hermione shrugged indifferently, her slipper-clad foot still jiggling unintentionally. Whether Tom gave her a Christmas present or not mattered little to her; all she knew was that time was running out for the both of them, and she had wanted him to have at least one really meaningful thing in his life while he was still... Her smile faded slightly, and she stopped herself before she mentally spoke the thought, but her mind finished it anyway.
While he was still alive.
No. No, I'm not doing this. It was Christmas, a day which Hermione was planning to make a complete vacation from her reality. Tom could take a turn for the worse tomorrow and be gone the next day, for all she knew, but she was not going to think about it today. Not today. Her smile brightened again, she nodded at the bag. "Open it."
With one last wary glance in her direction, Tom tilted his head downward, a wave of dark hair spilling across his forehead, and slowly pulled a smooth, cloudy sphere from the bag that couldn't have been much bigger than the palm of his hand. The strange little ball was perched on a little velvet stand. His face perplexed, Tom set the bag on the couch next to him and looked at her questioningly. "What is it?" he asked quietly.
Another energetic grin broke out across her face. "When I got my invitation to school, my parents were afraid I'd get homesick. It being my first year away from them and the like — or it could have been them being separated from me, now that I think about it..." It sounded right... Hermione had always felt a bit guilty over how they had always seemed to miss her more than she did them. She shrugged. "Anyway, it's called an Orb of Eternity — have you heard of those?"
He narrowed his eyes in contemplation, glanced back down at the sphere again, and shook his head. "Oh — I suppose they're rather rare", she mused to herself, and it was true: She had yet to meet anyone else who owned an Orb of Eternity. She couldn't even remember from which shop her parents bought it, exactly. "I mean, my mum and dad nearly fainted when they saw the bill on it—" And they nearly had. The eleven-year-old Hermione had found it highly amusing. She didn't mention how she was certain her parents must have run around Diagon Alley in a state of dazed awe at their first exposure to the wizarding world as they tried to find her a proper going-away gift...
The only reason they had finally decided upon it in the first place, they had told her, was because they thought it looked like a crystal ball, and from muggle movies, they had assumed that witches and wizards and crystal balls naturally went together.
"—but basically what happens is you hold it in your hand, and the clouds swirl around for a bit to heighten the suspense, and then it shows an image of someone", Hermione continued. "Whether that someone currently dead or alive, it doesn't matter, the only requirement is that he or she lo— cares or cared about the Holder. "
He didn't look especially enlightened — and had he understood the magnitude of the Orb, what it meant to her, even he would have had a bit more expression on his face. Um, how to explain... Oh. Hermione reached for the ball and glanced up him. "Do you mind?" Tom shook his head and noncommittally gestured for her to take it.
"Thanks". Hermione plucked the small, perfect sphere off the fancy stand and carefully balanced it in her palm, easily sliding into her teaching element, as Tom seemed to be listening attentively to her lecture on the intricacies of the Orb of Eternity. "So, when I hold it, sometimes I'll see my friends... and sometimes, I'll see my parents."
She paused before her voice could crack as an image of her mum and dad, laughing and waving at her, materialised though the haze and clouds inside the Orb, and a small, fond smile spread across her face. Hey Mum, Dad. "It's different for each Holder, though. I mean, when you look into it, you're obviously not going to see my parents". Almost reverently, Hermione turned the ball over in her hand and hastily handed it back to him. "And the feelings that the person in the Sphere felt —or feel— for the Holder — they travel through the hand and right into the soul... So whenever I felt discouraged, or alone, all I had to do was pick up that little ball, and I'd feel my parents' love—"
Abruptly, she broke off; like a catalyst, something about the last words had suddenly triggered in her a wave of emotions that she thought she had buried long ago. Burning, scathing tears sprung to the edges of her eyes, ominously threatening to spill over and fall. Faintly, Hermione finished, "And I'd feel their love for me as if they had been sitting right next to me the entire time."
I will not cry... Oh, dammit, why does this always happen when I'm in front of people? she thought in despair, desperately clenching her jaw to keep her chin from trembling.
Throughout her entire explanation, Tom's face had remained fairly blank, but his eyes had gone through a wide spectrum of emotions, beginning with complete surprise, then moving on to curiosity, a bit of longing, and now... Hermione couldn't name the exact emotion in his eyes, but it was there, lots of it.
Limply holding out the sphere in his outstretched hand, the same raw emotion in his voice that was shining in his eyes, Tom whispered, "Nefertari, I can't take this away from you."
"Yes, you can". Sniffing only once, she gave the tears a final determined shove away, and she gently closed Tom's cold, long fingers around the Orb of Eternity. "I don't need it to remember how much they cared about me. I want you to keep it. I'll be forever insulted if you don't, actually".
Tom smiled halfheartedly. "Well, I can't very well have that". He uncomfortably shifted his weight on the sofa and opened his mouth like he was beginning to say something, then abruptly shut it again and stared vacantly into the dying embers of the fire, their light overpowered by the orange, gold, and white rays of sunlight now positively streaming into the common room.
Hermione could not help herself. "What?" she asked curiously. He glanced over at her briefly but soon returned his gaze to the fire and sighed. He hesitated, then asked carelessly, quite apathetically, as if throwing the question out like it meant nothing to him, "Nefertari, what if the Holder doesn't see anyone?"
Oh, but it did mean something to him, Hermione realised with a start. He was afraid that no one cared enough for their image to appear in the Orb. Is he blind? her mind screamed, wanting to reach out, grab his shoulders, and throttle him. Instead, she simply smiled knowingly. "You will".
Saturday, December 25, 1944
6:50 P.M.
"On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to meeeee: seven swans a-swimming, six geese a-laying—"
"Will somebody shut her up?" Draco muttered, violently shaking his wand at Lavender's back as she pranced ahead of him, Hermione, Harry, Ginny, and Ron down the second floor corridor toward the staircase down to the Great Hall and Christmas dinner with the professors.
Harry paused in his Quiddich discussion with Ginny and Ron and helplessly shrugged at Draco, his eyes twinkling in quiet amusement. "Out of my league, mate".
"—three French hens, two-oo turtle doves—"
"You try getting her to stop without shooting a spell at her", Hermione ground out through gritted teeth, feeling the Amulet of Eras burn against her neck. It had taken to doing that randomly now, and, strangely enough, not just when she was with Tom Riddle.
"Just watch me". Draco expertly twirled his wand once around his fingers and took aim toward the fork in the hall that led down to the Slytherin Common Room, adding distractedly, "Give me a minute to summon my trusty beater's club—After all the work I've done with dear old grandfather, I've gotten good..."
Although she had grudgingly forgiven Draco for his rather infuriating actions at the Christmas Soiree after he had pitifully begged her pardon that morning with a puppy-dog expression and a considerably expensive Christmas present, Hermione gasped, aghast, not sure if he was serious or not. "Draco!"
"Relax, Nef, I wasn't going to physically attack her", he drawled, and the smirk that spread across his face proved to be entirely unreassuring. The front of his sleek platinum hair that he had not slicked back fell casually into his face as leaned over to her ear and naughtily added, "Just whack a metal ball in the general direction of her head."
Hermione felt her mouth fell open before she could stop herself, and she laughed in disbelief, shaking her head as she lightly punched his shoulder. "You wouldn't dare!" "I wouldn't, wouldn't I?" Draco muttered some dark nothings under his breath and rubbed his temples as if in great pain. Holding back a grin at his evident annoyance, Hermione unsympathetically crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows at him.
Draco caught the look. "Merlin, Nef, cut me some slack, all right?" he exploded in a good-natured manner and spreading his arms out imploringly and exasperatedly cocking his head at the Head Girl as if he couldn't quite understand why she didn't see things from his point of view. "She's been at it all bloody day!"
"Fiiiiive GOLD-den rings!" Lavender trilled shrilly, throwing her arms above her head and twirling dangerously down the Grand staircase's giant marble steps, her lacy green skirt billowing out like a parachute around her legs. Yes, so maybe Draco did have a point.
Hermione suddenly remembered the Self-Imploding Snapple Pops that Harry and Ginny, in the spirit of Fred and George, had conveniently given her for Christmas, with strict instructions to place in the path of any misbehaving first-year students. Only her friendship with the couple had kept her from trashing the prank candy the moment she tore away the wrapping paper.
She was beginning to seriously consider summoning one of the pops when Ron reported none-too unwillingly, "Well, mates, I'm off", energetically tearing himself from the group and quickly bounding to his girlfriend's side. Hermione hadn't the slightest idea what he had planned—
"And a partr— Oooo!" Lavender squealed delightedly, giggling as Ron's mouth silenced her own. And there was her answer. Hermione winced and wrinkled her nose at the kissing couple, her more conservative half chanting, PDA, scandalous, PDA, scandalous!... Awwww, come on, Hermione grow up! she scolded herself. After all, she should have been more than used to the sight by now.
"Oh, speaking of the days of Christmas", Draco snapped his fingers thoughtfully and whacked Harry on the arm. "Evans, I need to use your Invisibility Cloak". Ginny glanced over at him with interest. "Fancying a little midnight rendezvous, du Lac?"
"Yeah, with the only open shop in Hogsmeade". Draco scowled. "I forgot to get C. Salvi a Christmas present, but as long as it's shiny and expensive, I think she'll forgive me if I call it a..." he paused dramatically and then continued with a flourish of his wand, "a 'New Year's surprise' instead."
"Right, good luck with that one". Harry actually laughed as he nodded his head in consent. "And sure, you know where it is. Just bring it back in one piece, or you'll owe me half your bank account". Everyone, not just Ron and Lavender, but him, Ginny, and Draco too— They had all been so happy, so carefree like this ever since they had discovered that the curse had gone into Irreversible.
"It's about bloody time he did!" Ron had said when she had told them, sounding almost impatient. "Now we can finally get on with our lives. Back to normal". "Yeah, like living in the nineteen forties is a normal thing", Ginny added, rolling her eyes.
But Hermione, on the other hand, simply couldn't 'get on with her life,' as Ron had so easily put it, even if she desperately wished she could put this all behind her and Reductor into oblivion the day she had ever agreed to come back to 1944. She couldn't because Tom Riddle was a part of her life now, whether they even noticed it, or liked it, or didn't like it. Seeing him nearly every morning, and every night; exchanging spell ideas, or homework tricks, or even insults; trying to fathom the mystery behind his grey eyes, and even his odd little mood swings, his sometimes dangerous or sometimes unexpected but charming personality quirks... it was just natural to her, now.
Another grin broke out on the Boy-Who-Lived's face as they passed the lip-locked Ron and Lavender on the stairs, and he winked at Hermione. "I never thought I would say this, but right now, I am so glad those two are going out". "I second that", Hermione muttered absently, again thankful that Ron had managed to put Lavender on pause despite the vivid display the two were making as she, Draco, Harry, and Ginny slowed their pace at the bottom of the stairs, deciding to wait for them.
"Oh, stuff it, you two", Ginny cut in darkly, lowering her voice as she furtively threw a glance over her shoulder at her snogging brother and his girlfriend while simultaneously pulling her luscious scarlet tresses into a ponytail. "You won't have to have her as a sister-in-law".
Draco's eyes lit up evilly, and in a very Fleur-like voice he cooed, "Zat 'eeze right, dah-ling! You weell 'ave to keep us updated on ze drama, no?"
Absently straightening any bumps in the up-do, Ginny glared at Draco, her amused hazel eyes a cross between amusement and irritation. "Just so you know, Drah-co dah-ling", she cooed back just as mockingly, raising her eyebrows and mirroring in her smirk the devilish glint in his eyes, "You sounded so very queer right there!"
" 'Oy, I knew it!" Like a bullet, Ron took his cue to rejoin the conversation and energetically jogged down the stairs, straightening his sweater but not bothering with his telltale, mussed mop of orange-red hair as he pulled a pleased–looking Lavender after him, all the while furiously waving his finger at an irritated-looking Draco. "Harry, what having I been telling you? All these years and nobody's ever believed me—"
Lavender let out a screech of infectious laughter, and the perfectly horrified expression that exploded onto Draco's face was so priceless, the image of him not being quite on the straight and narrow so hilarious to Hermione's overly uptight mind that, she spluttered before she could help it, an unsuccessfully concealed laugh bursting out of nowhere.
Draco promptly glared at her. "Just so you know, Nef, you are no bloody help at all."
Impishly, Hermione covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes twinkling, and mumbled, "Payback for the dance, Draco dear", through her palm. Draco gave her such a withering, disgruntled scowl that Hermione eyebrow's rose in hilarity and she let out another muffled laugh, pulling back from the group a step away from the impressive but familiar wooden doors of the Great Hall and the tantalising smell of dinner wafting out from inside.
She froze. Out of nowhere, something smooth, thin, and cool materialised in her hand. Hermione jolted in surprise, her arm stiffening as her fingers instinctively closed around the object. Discreetly, she warily glanced down and loosened her grip just slightly, revealing a small slip of familiar yellow parchment.
Good Merlin. Her heart thudding, Hermione snapped her hand shut again. It was from him. But why had that suddenly made her so nervous? Surreptitiously, Hermione glanced back at the others, but they hadn't seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary, thank Merlin; Ron was still going on and on about which way his former nemesis swung, and seemed to be enjoying himself quite a bit, while Draco had resorted to utilising several ominous threats (including demanding darkly if, never mind his kissing ability, did Ron want to lose his child-making ability?).
Tuning the bickering group out again, Hermione mentally frowned. How had he gotten the note to appear directly into her hand if he hadn't been in the entrance hall to see where to aim it? Unless... Unless he was there, somewhere. Not even bothering to figure out which advanced charm Tom had used to get the note to her, let alone what the note itself actually said —which, when Hermione thought back on it, probably would have been a smart thing to do— her sharp gaze began searching the shadowy foyer for the Heir of Slytherin himself.
And, off to her right nearly three-quarters of the way down the dimly lit, partially obscured corridor that led into the lesser-used wings of the castle, she thought she saw a single torchlight flicker briefly from some unseen wind. Well, it was her only lead. "I'll be right back", Hermione hastily whispered in Ginny's ear, already planning her retreat. Ginny nodded in a half-listening sort of way, her attention focused on the central conversation, and then she said loudly, "Oh, you haven't, have you? Hmmm, why don't you allow me to remind you of certain incident in your sixth year, where I seem to vividly recall you, Blaise Zabini, and an empty train compartment—" "Westlette, if you mean to imply anything from what you think you saw, your bat-bogey hex will appear as mere child's play when compared to what I will do to you."
Hermione rolled her eyes and quickly strode the few steps to the mouth of the flickering-torchlight corridor, peering down it just in time to see what could have been the edge of a long robe swish around the farthest bend. After glancing once more at her group as Harry, ever the peacemaker, impatiently shoved himself between Ginny and Draco and hauled open the Great Hall door, Hermione began to jog, then run down the length of the hallway.
She just had a feeling, somehow, that it was him... Although she wasn't quite sure why she felt such an inexplicable need to go after him.
A burst of speed, and Hermione reached out and swung herself around the edge of the first bend, her fingers briefly brushing the cold stone wall as she did so. And she stopped dead when she found who she was looking for. "Tom!"
Yes, there was no denying it was him; the unmistakable silhouette of the tall Heir of Slytherin froze halfway down this second hallway, the back of his dark head shining brightly from the light of the nearest torch. But... Hermione frowned as he reached out, his hand finding the rough wall and heavily using it as a support as he unsteadily turned around, his movements so drunken and jerky that, had he not been Tom Riddle, Hermione would have thought him to be utterly smashed. Something was wrong. He hadn't been like this that morning.
"Nef... Nefertari?" Was that his voice? Hermione wondered, shocked the moment she heard it. Emerging as no more than a mere whisper, it still retained that soft yet hard, charismatic effect that it would always possess, but yet, it was so, so incredibly faint, and she could hardly catch his words when he muttered dully, "You weren't supposed to come after me right now".
Hermione's excitement at her intuition actually picking the right corridor and catching up with Tom was rapidly fading to the horror that accompanied being unprepared for a situation over which she thought she had some amount of control. Had she missed some vital paragraph on the Anima curse? Once it reached the Irreversible stage, just how fast did it move? Hermione sighed. "For goodness sake, Tom, it's Christmas day". She began to walk toward him despite his previously muttered comment, with him leaning against the wall like nothing more than an inert statue.
When she drew close enough to really get a good look at her counterpart, though, she didn't even try to deny the strain of concern that nervously simmered at the back of her mind as she realised that, with his ashen skin tone and his shallow, nearly undetectable breathing, he very well could have passed for a statue. Curiously, she stood on tiptoe and looked behind him. "Where are you going?"
Tom sluggishly glanced over his shoulder at the gaping gloom of the deserted entrance to a maze of hallways, then apathetically returned his gaze to her and shrugged listlessly.
Hermione frowned, his lack of response not a good sign. "Aren't you coming to dinner?" As if she had tried to hex him, Tom's face darkened and his jaw clenched, a warning look springing to his eyes. "Nefertari, you... of all people—" Abruptly, he cut off, coughing harshly, tottering and nearly losing his balance as one of his hands jumped up to cover his mouth. After a moment, the energy in his voice practically drained to the point of nothingness, he faintly continued, "You know I don't... go in there—"
"I know, I know you don't", Hermione interrupted pacifyingly, her worry over his condition only augmenting, but she was unable to keep a tinge of impatience from her tone as she repeated, "But Tom, it's Christmas", as if that alone was reason enough for him to break from his routine. She paused then, hovering over the burning question on her lips.
If she did this, she was going to have a lot to explain to her friends, and she was going to have to come up with something good... Good Merlin, who cares? She thought rebelliously. It's my life, not theirs! This was now. Tom was here. So was she. And then she asked, "Will you come with me, to dinner? Just this once?"
Tom seemed taken aback at her sudden request. "Nefertari... By now you should know there's little hope in asking me to do that."
That was true, Hermione admitted at the rather idealistic thought, although she still couldn't quite bring herself to believe that he would voluntarily alienate himself from his fellow students to such an extent that he never even ate the Great Hall, even when most of the school's population was gone on holiday. She could at least try to bring him back to the humanity. And what harm was there in trying?
Earnestly, Hermione searched his hard, detached face. "Most of the important things in this world have been accomplished by people who kept on trying when there seemed to be no hope at all", she said softly. On second thought, she added doubtfully, "You don't really want to eat alone on Christmas, do you?"
She felt sick as she resisted pointing out, "Especially the last one you'll ever have?" No! Don't think about that!
Tom's eyes bore into hers as if he was trying to read her very soul, his piercing gaze frustratingly unreadable. Finally, he audibly sighed, "No, I don't suppose I do". Like an afterthought, his exhausted gaze travelled past her, back down the long hallway though which he had already come. Following his line of sight, Hermione instantly recognised his dilemma. And, she also realised, she had to touch him. Soon. If she didn't, it didn't matter if they went to Great Hall together or parted their separate ways —the Anima curse had already drained his energy levels to the point of passing out, and she didn't doubt that he would.
Pocketing his note, she slipped her left arm through his right, linking elbow, and immediately, she felt Tom's weary eyes on her, probing her quizzically. Smiling encouragingly, she tilted her head up at him, haphazardly tossing some of her curls from her face. "You and I, we're going to make it, okay?" Tom's lips briefly twisted upward in a weak, half-hearted manner that could have been called a sad attempt at a smile, and he nodded. Her eyes flickering downward, she gently took his limp, frigid right hand in hers.
Hermione braced herself as he gingerly took a step. "Slowly", she hastily warned in more of an automatic response than anything else as, right away, she felt Tom stumble heavily into her side. Stubbornly, though, Hermione set her slender shoulder under his arm. "Careful now, that's it— Watch!" Suddenly, as if the stone floor itself had suddenly Disapparated, Tom's right leg unexpectedly gave out from under him, and he went down hard, faster than Hermione could even blink.
Hermione gasped, and, with more speed than she ever imagined she had, she simultaneously jerked his sickly thin body to a stop before he could slam into the ground, every single muscle in her body stiffening, somehow finding the strength in her to hold his weight until Tom —clinging to the first things he had managed to get a hold of, her left arm and shoulder, so tightly that the collar of her sweater dug sharply into the side of her neck— regained his balance and heaved himself up, winded, his chest visibly heaving furiously.
Without thinking twice, Hermione quickly slipped her arm around his side, securely hugging his tall frame with one arm. "Calm down, you're all right", she whispered soothingly, so close to him that she could actually feel the throbbing beats of his pounding heart, although she wasn't sure how much good her little support would do if he completely passed out on her. Nonetheless, she murmured, "Come on now, lean on me if you have to."
They must have made quite the pair, she thought wryly as he obediently sagged against her side in his energy-depleted state as if she were the taller one. "That's it", she soothed quietly, calmly... Tom let out a shuddering sigh and heavily rested the right side of his face on the top of her head, his ragged breaths echoing sharply down the otherwise silent passageway.
From the night she had met him until now, even if he did love her, she had never expected the introverted Slytherin, who had been seemingly the most self-reliant person she had ever met, to openly place as much trust, as much faith in her as he indirectly just had.
"That's it, you're all right", she repeated softly, slipping her arm farther around his side. Entirely of its own accord, her hand began to move in a small circle over his back, rubbing it comfortingly, her fingertips becoming slightly numb as they repeatedly ran themselves over the rough, worn fabric of his robe.
After a few seconds, she felt the weight of Tom's head on top of hers disappear, and he coughed once before weakly clearing his throat. "Sorry", he muttered stoically, his voice hoarse as he nonchalantly though slowly straightened his robes with his free hand. "Reflexes just aren't like they used to be". But, even in the dim, flickering torchlight, when Hermione peered up at him, she could plainly see the beginning of an embarrassed flush creeping up around his ears and the back of his neck. Forcing a cheerful note to her voice, she asked, "Want to try that one more time?" and lightly drummed her fingers on his back.
Tom closed his eyes and nodded, and Hermione linked her elbow with his once more, the corridor completely silent save his shuffling footsteps and her slow, deliberate ones. As they again carefully started back to the Great Hall together, she momentarily wondered what he had done that day that had drained his energy to such an extent that even her touch was disinclined to help him.
"Nice use of the Subvectus and Appareo charms, by the way", she said conversationally, her mind travelling back to the reason she had taken off after him down the first floor corridors in the first place — the appearance of a little slip of paper.
Tom's pace had by no means quickened, but Hermione could tell that he seemed to be losing some of his initial sluggishness as, bit by bit, he eased his way erect, no longer having to lean entirely against her for support. His eyes remained closed tiredly, though, as he said faintly, "Thanks... took me the better part of two weeks to get them to work simultaneously..." In true bookworm form, Hermione mentally flipped thought the pages of her advanced charm textbook, stopping on page 681. "Isn't the Transferius designed for doing that sort of thing, though?" Tom nodded again, allowing her to guide him around the bend and into the final corridor that opened up into the foyer outside the Great Hall — and Hermione was, once again, struck by the trust. "Yeah, I used it for a while, until I figured out the other two work better combined than it does alone, if you can weave the charms until they fit together perfectly."
"Really?" Hermione asked with interest, briefly making a mental note. "I'm going to have to remember that". As the end of the hallway appeared well within reaching distance, and happy, cheerful chatter from in side the Great Hall next door became quite audible, she carefully slowed him down, curious. "Tom, what did the note say?"
Nothing —no surprise, no nervousness, no expression that might have given him away— nothing whatsoever crossed Tom's face, which was partially why Hermione suspected he still kept his eyes closed. Out of all the things he tried to mask, Hermione always had the best luck with reading his eyes. Instead, in the most emotionless, most guarded voice Hermione had heard him use in weeks, he said quietly, "It asked you to come to the Potions classroom at half past eight tonight".
Hermione's heart pounded faster, and her feet stopped moving a breath away from the towering Great Hall doors. "Why?" she asked warily, unable to keep a trace of suspicion from her voice. It wasn't that she thought he was going to jump her, but her last encounter with a Slytherin in an empty Potions classroom had soured her desire to be caught in the same kind of position again.
Tom finally opened his eyes, seeming to have been considerably reenergised in the few minutes that she had made contact with him. "The note was not at liberty to say". A scheming, I-know-something-you-definitely-don't grin broke out across his face, the simple sincerity of the expression giving him an extraordinarily attractive glow despite his ailing pallor as he added, "And, now that I think about it, neither am I."
Holding back a smile, Hermione glared at him. "Well, you're not very helpful then; maybe I should just leave you out here". She reached for the great wooden handle but noticed that he wasn't following her when her linked arm yanked her back; impatiently, she turned around to ask what he on earth he was waiting for...
Tom's transformation was frightening. As if she had pushed some kind of terrible little button, Tom's handsome face had frozen over and stormily darkened to the most that it had since the day he had found out she was helping throw parties in the Room of Requirement without his knowledge so much so that Hermione honestly thought a shade had descended over his face.
Merlin, what did I do? she thought frantically as an explosive, loaded beat passed, a beat in which Tom simply, stonily stared at her. Finally, in a low, deadly calm but icily rigid voice, he asked, "Do you really mean that, Nefertari?"
Hermione's mouth falling open at the sudden toxic frigidity of Tom's tone, and she tilted her head toward him in disbelief. Was he serious? "What?" she asked dumbly, her mind fumbling for some rationalisation to his actions. Oh no. How can he not understand the idea of teasing?
"I... of course not!" she spluttered, frantically searching for the right words to defuse the situation, "Tom..." It seemed like she could actually feel the icy waves radiating off him, and she felt her own blood chill in her veins. She had come too far to lose him now! "I... it—it wasn't serious! People tease!"
Tossing her stuttered, lame explanation away for the rubbish that it was, he narrowed his eyes, dangerously lowering a lethal, tempestuous gaze on her — with such intense ferocity, that any other student may have and probably would have scuttled away as fast as was humanly possible, no doubt while thinking 'the hell with this guy.' But Hermione wasn't like them. Oh yes, she had been, once, but now... she was above that, somehow. Now, concern was the only lingering emotion in her eyes, and she frowned pensively. What on earth had fuelled his rapid mood change?
Without even considering fleeing the vicinity, Hermione turned herself so she was no longer standing at Tom's side but, rather, directly across from him, her left arm still loosely entwined with his now-rigid one. She hesitated before she dove in, partially expecting him to leave her there and take off down the hallway, but he simply stood stiffly, not responding in one way or the other.
All right, so if he wasn't going to leave, she wasn't going to let him get off so easily, either. Furrowing her brow in concentration, she quickly searched Tom's treacherously apathetic gaze, his doubtful expression, and... Yes! There it was — now that she had a vague idea of what she was searching for, she could just catch it— that hardly perceptible look in his eyes, that pained look that he seemed so desperate to conceal... A hint that maybe this hard shell to which he was so quick to resort wasn't second nature after all, but, rather, a very convincing, very effective shield.
Rapidly, Hermione ran though all the information Dumbledore had given her on Tom Riddle, on all the experiences he had gone through in his life: His less-than-desirable father, what he knew of his mother, his time at an orphanage, the way he and the other students at Hogwarts got on... He was skittish, Hermione realised, and not just of her, but of people and good situations in general, the 'so much is going right that something must be wrong' type of outlook that he had been raised to expect from life.
But, with everything taken into consideration, she couldn't really blame him for it. Just like she couldn't really blame him for what had happened to her parents, because he hadn't done it yet. And when he had, it hadn't really been this "him" anymore.
Oh dear, he honestly does think I'm serious! Biting her lip nervously, Hermione hesitated, then stepped up to him, so close that the toe of her shoe could have easily brushed his. Cautiously, she reached up with her right hand, lightly cupping the cool, smooth side of Tom's etched, well-defined face before she lost her nerve. He flinched; she heard his breath hitch, but he didn't pull away, nor did she, and she felt his clenched jaw began to relax under her touch.
"Tom", Hermione whispered gently, softly, and in all genuine honesty, a small smile threatening to pull at her lips as he roughly pushed the side of his face more deeply into her palm's hold whether he meant to or not, "I would never drag you all the way back to the Great Hall just to abandon you at the door".
After the cold façade he had just put on, the speed with which a burst of swirling, suffering emotion exploded behind Tom's gaze — not to mention the sheer magnitude of raw sentiment in his expression— shocked even Hermione. Sympathetically, she watched him just as quickly squeeze his eyes shut and sharply turn his head away from hers to cover his security breach.
Relieved, Hermione let out a breath of air. Yes. I haven't lost him yet. Lightly, she stroked her thumb over his cheek, wavered, and then added quietly, "And I really do mean that".
Without any warning whatsoever, a wave of dizziness swept over Hermione's head the second the words left her mouth. For a single moment, all thoughts suspended into nothingness. Except for two.
The first was the realisation that she really did mean it, what she had told him, meant it with every sincerest, purest intention she had. Oh my... Dare she even think it?
But you can't! He's dying! Wherever this goes, if it even goes anywhere, you're only going to end up getting hurt!
And on that beat, the second thought arrived. A fear petrified her, when she saw what she was beginning to feel for Tom Riddle. And it wasn't the kind of fear that she had felt when she had battled for her life in the war, either, or when people, friends she had cared about had died before her very eyes, or when she had faced a life that seemed empty and uncertain without her parents. No, this fear was new, unfamiliar territory for her, and, therefore, she deemed it just as debilitating as the other sort, if not more so. Vaguely, she wondered if Tom had felt the same way, with her.
It was almost daunting, the power she suddenly realised she could have over him. Yes, she was human, the thought had to cross her mind sometime and yes, she was in the position to use him, if she wanted to. Six months ago, she very well might have. But now, even if her mind considered taking advantage of the situation, which she highly doubted it would... she had a sneaking suspicion that her heart might get in the way first.
"Let's go in."
It shoved her back to earth, Tom's voice, considerably softened from its previous frigidness but still a bit rough around the edges nonetheless. Hermione shook her head vigorously, her lashes blinking rapidly as she collected herself and refocused on him. She simultaneously dropped her hand from his face and untangled her left arm from his.
Without her support, Tom swayed unsteadily before he regained his stability. "Are you going to be all right?" she asked, concerned. Resting his hand on the wooden door's smooth, shiny overlay, Tom swung his dark head in her direction, his grey eyes reluctant, his voice anything but. "Please, Nefertari, at least give me a little credit. I've made it this far, haven't I?" Despite the tartness in the remark, Hermione couldn't stop herself from smiling. "Yes, you have."
She nodded, and, like by some unspoken agreement, Tom pulled open the giant Great Hall door, his energy levels refilled enough that the act didn't require much effort. Immediately, Hermione was temporarily blinded by an explosion of bright light, and her mouth began to water as her mind locked on the overpowering aroma of leftover Christmas Soiree kitchen creations. Tom casually leaned on the door to hold it open and unceremoniously stuck out his hand as if to say 'You first.'
Giving him another brief smile, Hermione entered the Hall; Tom quickly pulled the door shut with a quiet, scraping thud and followed behind her so closely that she could actually sense his presence.
As her senses feasted on a twinkling, glittering, garland-enveloped Great Hall that was still mostly decorated from the Christmas Soiree, a chatter of lively conversation and a burst of laughter rang out from the front of the gigantic room, and Hermione felt, rather than saw, him take a small step backward.
Without thinking twice, Hermione grabbed his icy hand and resolutely made for the long but crowded single table at the head of the room. It sat several of the staff, including Dippet and Dumbledore, and Harry, Ginny, Ron, Lavender, and Draco were well into their dinner, as were Phyllis Hardiman, Jacobson Andrews, a young Minerva McGonagall, and few other underclassmen Hermione didn't recognise.
Mid-giggle, Phyllis caught sight of Hermione and waved brightly. Sitting next to her, Ron must have seen the wave out of the corner of his eye, because he paused in his quest to devour every cinnamon soufflé at the table. "Merlin's beard, Hermione, d'you take a wrong turn on the first level— Oh".
Ron's loud, sour "Oh" actually caused every occupant at the table to either look up from their dinner or completely turn around to stare at the two Heads, or more specifically, at the Head Boy, and beside her, Tom stiffened up again.
Hermione let out a silent groan, her thoughts vacillating between: This is not what I needed!, Ooo, when I get my hands on Ronald Weasley!, and They're going to kill me for this, they're going to kill me...
It was appalling, really, how easily she could pick out the emotions. Extreme surprise was scrawled all over the professors' faces; the underclassmen began nervously whispering in a little cluster, and her friends... Well, they held a little bit of everything, everything from incredulous confusion to dawning realisation, although the open hatred on Ron's face was obvious.
Furtively shooting a peek to her right to make sure Tom wasn't actually doing anything to warrant what Ron was giving him, Hermione found the Slytherin indifferently standing a step behind her, his face appearing blasé and placidly undaunted with the "warm" reception. Something, though, something was tugging at her hand, and, glancing down, she realised with a bit of a start that it was him, discreetly trying to wrench himself away. So Mr. Calm and Collected wasn't as unconcerned as he looked.
With a rush of exasperated anger toward every single person at the table — they who could be so quick to judge so harshly yet so slow to forgive and to forget — Hermione stubbornly gripped Tom's resisting hand more tightly while shooting a surreptitious, dark glare at Ron.
"Merry Christmas, everyone", she said brightly, pointedly ignoring Ron's steadily reddening face as she turned abruptly and gave the line of professors a winning smile, intentionally avoiding Tom's probing, piercing gaze that was clearly saying, 'Let go of me.' "Headmaster, professors; sorry we're late".
How she hated awkward silences! Dumbledore was the first to speak. "Not at all, Hermione", he said genially, using the first-name basis he and she had established to keep up the appearance of relation. He rose from his seat to acknowledge the pair and gracefully motioned with his hand to the little empty space at the end of the table, his interested gaze lingering on her and Tom's interlaced hands. "I trust you're having a fine Christmas".
"Just wonderful, thanks", Hermione breathed diplomatically, years of friendship alerting her at the exact moment Harry's intense stare swept onto her face. It was all too much to handle at once! Hermione needed the proper time to clarify the situation for them, but she couldn't now, not with Tom and the rest of the world right there... and she couldn't bear to see any glares she might receive in the meanwhile. Ignore them... just ignore them...
As she lifted her chin and marched over to the open seats with Tom in tow, the wise old— or, rather, young redheaded professor added, a trace of mild curiosity in his omniscient voice, "Tom, it's good to see you here."
Thank you, Uncle Al. As she dropped down next to Minerva McGonagall, scooting over as far as she could to leave enough room for Tom, Hermione mentally got down on her knees and paid Dumbledore the homage the man deserved.
Easily reaching Dumbledore's lofty eye level, Tom briefly stared across the table at the future Headmaster, as if he couldn't quite figure him out. "Thank you, sir", he eventually, tonelessly said in his yet weakened voice —to which Draco smirked— and he slid into the bench alongside Hermione. Dumbledore, too, dropped back into his seat, but not before Hermione noticed his shrewd blue eyes twinkling like twin diamonds. Hermione knew better than to wonder what he was so cheerful about.
The table conversation resumed, although it was a little more reserved: Phyllis and Jacobson began chatting amicably with Minerva McGonagall, and Hermione distantly heard Ginny whispering, her voice stern yet so quiet that Hermione hardly caught it, "Coolit, brother dear. I don't like it either, but she's a big girl. She can handle herself". "But he's... he's... him!" Ron spluttered under his breath. Good thing Tom was probably far enough away to not be in hearing range of their hushed conversation.
Sighing heavily, Hermione let her head fall to the table, her forehead on the wooden boards, morosely returning to her most pressing concern: She was going to have to explain it to them soon, whatever 'it' was, and when that moment came, she didn't even want to imagine about how it would go:
Yeah, um, you all remember the guy who goes on to kill my parents, kill your parents, Harry, kill our friends... just kill a lot of people in general, really— But wait, before I tell you, don't worry, it's not like I'm completely betraying you: he's only got less than a month to live anyway, probably! ... AndIthinkImightfancyhim.
Admitting it to herself didn't exactly make Hermione feel much better, so she quickly forced her mind from the topic before her conscience drove her mad. Of course, thinking about the object of her turmoil wasn't exactly a happy medium either, as she wasn't quite certain how he had felt about the dinner table's welcoming glares, what with the mixed signal 'Love me, hate me; either way, I don't really give a damn' facial expression, contrasted with the 'Damn it, let go of me and get me out of here' hand yanking.
Out of nowhere, Hermione felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise on edge, and she could sense Tom's close proximity to her before he even began to speak. His warm breath near her neck became quite perceptible as, sounding remotely amused, he remarked, "Nefertari, you never told me you ate tables". Good, so it hadn't really affected him. "Haven't you heard, it's a hobby of mine", Hermione deadpanned though her arm. She groaned and turned her head to one side, squinting in the, bright twinkling light as she peered up at him. "And you never told me you were funny".
"Because I'm not", Tom countered matter-of-factly, a small smirk playing at his lips, his stormy eyes losing more of that mistrusting, edgy gleam that they had held outside the Great Hall. Pulling out his wand and absently twirling it around his fingers, he leaned closer to her, several locks of dark hair curling loosely into his face as he asked quietly, "Do you normally drag people off to eat like this?"
Hermione's sweater had suddenly become hot, far too hot for the normally draughty Great Hall, and she resisted the urge to fan herself. "You came willingly, if I remember correctly", she retorted, throwing him a smug smirk and biting back a mischievous grin.
Tom skeptically raised his eyebrows at her, and Hermione could tell he was trying not to scowl. "Right I did, until the part where you towed me up here like you were a bloody tugboat". He reached for a pitcher half-full of orange liquid that was partially obscured behind a mountain of steak-and-kidney pies. "Pumpkin juice?" "Sure". Hermione laughed and sat back up, rubbing her left cheek. She figured some obnoxiously large red mark probably remained in the spot where the hard table and her head had connected. "Sorry about that, by the way".
"I might find it in myself to forgive you this time", Tom said in a good-natured manner. Flipping his long sleeves back over themselves once, she picked up the small cauldron-sized, rounded jug and brought it closer to the empty glass that had appeared in front of her. Just when he was about to start pouring, he seemed to think of something, paused, and, with a crafty edge to his voice, asked, "And where, exactly, do you want it?"
Hermione's mouth fell open. Ohhhhh, so now you want to play. She whipped around to stare at the smirking Heir of Slytherin so rapidly, the ends of her long wave of curls flew out, catching Minerva in the side of the face, and a rush of adrenaline sent her heart pounding so heavily, she could actually hear it.
Hermione heard McGonagall's younger self huff and turn back to her conversation with Phyllis and Jacobson, but right now the rest of the table's occupants were the last thing on her mind. While her gaping mouth didn't close completely, a sly little smile tugged at the right corner of her lips. "Hmmm. Well that all depends", she mused thoughtfully, forcing the grin from her face, crossing her arms with interest. Innocently, she inquired, "Where can I get it?"
The small grin on Tom's face amplified, and he set down the jug of juice, again twirling his wand around his fingers and holding it like it was a quill. "Oh, we've got your basic pub service, but for your convenience, we also deliver to our poolside lounge, or to our courtyard if you'd care for a bit of fresh air with your order", he said nonchalantly as if he was simply rattling off a well-recited list to another customer, his Irish accent surprisingly outweighing his Queen's English with the act. He paused —intentionally, it seemed— and then added, "And, should you need anything, anything at all, we will, of course, be at your disposal twenty-four hours a day."
Hermione's heart was hammering away in her chest now, but her exterior facade was the epitome of calm as she mused over his words, the entire risqué-ness of their spontaneous little banter sending her audacity level soaring and her risk-assessment skills plunging. She hovered undecidedly over the words, separately feeling each one out in her mouth and trying them on for size... and, before she lost her confidence, she asked coolly, "And does that offer include room service as well?"
Instantly, but to her amusement rather than her embarrassment, a high-pitched, reprimanding little voice that sounded suspiciously like Mrs Weasley rattled in the back of her mind, OH MY HEAVENS, HERMIONE GRANGER NEFERTARI, WHATWOULD YOUR MOTHER SAY? Well, thank Merlin they were sitting at the farthest end of the table!
Tom's eyebrows shot up at the question before he theatrically frowned and broodingly cocked his head to the right, scribbling some figures down on an imaginary pad of paper as if he was seriously considering it. Finally, he lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "I do apologise, but that's going to cost you a whole lot extra, I'm afraid". "You prat!" Hermione lightly exclaimed with a laugh, elbowing an amused Tom sharply. "Just pour it before I die of thirst!"
And then what Hermione had labelled "The Smile" made its short-lived but shining appearance— the smile that displayed a bright flash of crinkled lines of amusement around the edges of his grey eyes, and lit up Tom's face to such an extent that he appeared leagues older, but in not in the literal way — older in that he seemed more mature, more open, and just a whole lot happier.
His smile disappeared as quickly as it came, however, and he deftly picked up the pitcher and tipped it to the edge of her goblet before filling his. Hermione glanced over at him again, her own grin leaving her face but not her eyes. "Now, honestly tell me... This isn't so bad, is it?"
"It's a bit hard to say", he responded ambiguously, and unexpectedly stretched one long arm around her back, plucking a bowl of rolls off the table near her far elbow. Obviously, he was also forced to fully lean against her in the process so that even she slanted over to the left... But, rather than beating him off, Hermione playfully arched one thin eyebrow, glancing at him sideways as he briefly pressed the lower half of his jaw against her head so that his mouth was directly above her ear.
Any remaining thought of her friends' reactions to the idea of her having a close relationship with Tom Riddle was deemed totally and completely inconsequential by Hermione as his warm breath caressed her skin, and she smiled as he said in a low voice, "I haven't even tried the food yet".