Chapter Twenty-Two: The Halloween Party

"Where have you been all day, Tom?" Hermione asked as he took his seat beside her at the Slytherin table and began helping himself to the food.

Grimacing slightly, Tom replied, "A man's got to have a secret or two, hasn't he, Hermione?"

"Yes, I suppose so," she conceded. "But only if it hasn't got to do with another woman. If there's one thing I will not tolerate, it's—"

Tom was laughing. Hermione looked annoyed.

"My sweet, sweet Hermione," he said as he slid a hand down her thigh beneath the table. "What possible need would I have for another woman when you've worn me out so completely?"

"Oh, really?" she challenged hotly.

"No, not really," he answered suggestively in her ear. "But tonight we've got the Halloween party to pull off. We won't have much time for anything else beyond that."

"Hmph," she scoffed as she reached for the same roll as he. Their hands met and Hermione let go, allowing Tom to take the roll. He also grabbed one for her and set it on her plate. "Tom, I just can't figure out how someone so affable turns out to be so—not—affable in the future," she mentioned near his ear, so that no one else would hear her.

"Hush, love," he reminded her. "Perhaps I won't turn out the same at all, now that I have you."

The set of Hermione's shoulders tightened noticeably, and Tom began to rub one as he ate a chicken leg. She cast her eyes down and let him, but seemed unable to eat anything more.

"Come on, Hermione, you must eat something," he cajoled her. "We can't have you running out of energy halfway through the night, can we?"

"Would you two just get a room," Malfoy grumbled from across the table, and they both glared at him for it. Several of the other students at the table chuckled behind their hands.

"We already have a room, thank you very much," Hermione said sweetly. "Just no time to go back to it."

Abraxas laughed and cast a look over at Lestrange and Avery, who were each trying to keep the smirks off their faces. Then he cast his eyes on Tom again, saying, "You haven't forgotten about our little get together after the party, have you, Riddle? Boys only, Granger. But I'm sure you can find your way to your dorm to wait."

"Brax, that's no way to speak to my girlfriend," said Tom, the menace in his tone unmistakable. "Perhaps you and I will need to discuss your attitude further? But I will, of course, save that for another time. He is right, love, your presence at the after party would be—distracting."

"Then let us hope your behavior will remain as—exemplary—as it has been recently," Hermione answered, trying to sound complacent but failing miserably.

"Don't worry, my dear, as Brax has said, no women," he teased, and kissed her on the cheek.

"That's the least of my worries," she muttered so no one could hear her.

"What's that?" Tom asked as he tilted her face up to look at him again.

"Nothing," she lied. "It was nothing."

"Good," he replied as he let her go. "Now, let's finish up here everyone. We need to go make sure the underclassmen have properly set up the festivities."

#

Dumbledore was watching them. Hermione had no idea why the man cared, but his eyes had hardly left the pair of them ever since he'd come into the room. He neither smiled nor frowned, but his eyes never strayed far as the couple interacted with their friends. Hermione found it difficult to have fun with such close scrutiny trained her way.

"Tom, why is Dumbledore eyeing us like a pair of pork chops?" she finally whispered into his ear.

"What?" asked Tom, casting the old man a sideways glance. "Oh, perhaps it has to do with our own interaction earlier. He seemed awfully curious about you, Hermione. Have the two of you had any sort of interaction since you arrived?"

"None, other than the usual Professor to student variety," she answered. "I'd half expected him to ask me all manner of questions, but so far, nothing."

"How very—odd," Tom commented. "Hermione, I do not know what he was like in the future, but here he is a rather cunning man bent on attaining some measure of success. I would not be greatly surprised to learn he wished to be the Minister of Magic someday."

"Dumbledore?" she scoffed. "He turned that job down."

"Truly?" asked Tom, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Why would he do that?"

"I don't know," she said. "I suppose because he thought it more useful to mold our young minds than to deal with those already formed."

"What an interesting idea," Tom answered, rubbing his chin. "I hadn't considered it before."

"Okay, Riddle, we're all dying to know why there's a bucket of apples in water over here," Abraxas called. "What's it for?"

"Oh, that?" he said. "It was Hermione's idea. Tell them, Hermione."

"Well, where I come from, we put apples into a bucket and tried to get them out again without using our hands," she explained. "Usually, you're meant to grab onto them with your teeth."

"How very odd," Abraxas said. "Show us how, Granger."

"Of course," she agreed. It was a fairly easy matter for her to grab an apple with her teeth. She threw her wet hair over her shoulder and began munching away on her prize.

Running his wand down the length, Tom dried Hermione's hair for her. She cast him a look of thanks. "Aren't you going to try, Tom?" she inquired.

"No, I think I shall leave it for the others," he answered with a slight shudder as they headed for the punch bowl. "I prefer to remain dry—at least while I'm clothed, anyway."

Heat suffused Hermione's cheeks as she pondered his answer. She knew he was making a jaded reference to how wet they might get while she visited his bed. Or perhaps a bubble bath. She tried not to chuckle at the thought of enticing him to put down his toothbrush and get into the tub with her instead. Not a bad idea.

But she couldn't help but worry about Tom and the other boys' after party. Knowing what they became in the future, how could she not worry about the nature of the thing? Yet, if the events had already occurred once before, should she not leave well enough alone? It was maddening, trying to decide what she ought to do. And yet, the small voice in the back of her head persisted in its insistence. She may be unable to interfere, but should she not at least find out what they might be up to? She was fairly certain that she should.