Chapter Four
Harsh Reality
Tom's POV
September 26
Last night's meeting went exceptionally well. Everyone has now been administered the dark mark. Those fools, they had followed me so blindly… well there was an exception… Orion Black made quite a fuss. I abruptly put him back in his place however. It was the first time I had ever used the cruciatus curse, and it worked beautifully. Orion suffered such a high intensity of pain that he couldn't even cry out. I quite like that unexpected effect. I believe the cruciatus curse will help farther my control, especially since they all known what it can do now. I doubt they even knew what it was before last night.
On a different note, tonight's plan involves the chamber of secrets. I wasn't able to open the chamber last year, but I have studied more about my ancestry since. Salazar was a complex man, yet I admire his genius. He had sealed it so that only his blood line could awaken the chamber. If only I had known before that the incantation needed to be in parseltongue. It's an ability specified by the heirs of Slytherin. I have been able to speak to serpents my entire life, why I hadn't thought of it sooner escapes me. I supposed that I believed it to be something common among magical beings. I will be more sensitive to such things in the future…
Dropping his long, feathered quill into a nearby ink well Tom closed his journal, and slipped it into his plain, tan book bag. That despicable girl had been staring at him once more, and he had known it was only a matter of time before she approached him. After all this was part of his daily routine. She had followed him into the library, sit exactly three tables away, and had pretended to read the same book for three weeks now. Every now and then she would tip the book forward and peek over the edge at him, then awkwardly giggle. Once she thought he was done with whatever he had busied himself with, the girl would make her move. She was simply an inconvenient annoyance in his day. Looking up with an impassive stare, Tom took pleasure in catching her peering eyes. It amused him how such a simple action would make her so uncomfortable. Good, look away. Tom thought as she adverted her gaze to the table. Sinking back in his chair the young lord leaned his head back to stare up at the ceiling. Perhaps she should have been my first crucio… He thought, entertaining the idea of her ugly face withering in pain. Tom smirked, relatively pleased by the mental image "U-Um Tom?" and so it began.
With a sigh he sat up, settling back into his perfect posture "Good evening Myrtle." Tom acknowledge her through gritted teeth. Just once this year he would like to spend his time in the library undisturbed. As he waited for her weak, embarrassed reply Tom took the liberty of examining the girl. She truly was no better than average looking. She was entirely too thin with a rather boring face…dull brown eyes hidden behind oversized, round spectacles, sunk in, pasty pale cheeks, and stringy brown hair pulled into two childish pony tails. Perhaps her plain looks could have been made up with an endowed body, but it seemed that she hadn't won in that department either. She had the build of a little boy. In fact if it wasn't for the pony tails she might have been mistaken for a boy.
Myrtle clasped her hands together, and smiled shyly "Good evening." She chirped in an all too cheerful tone. The girl tilted her head to the side as a heated blush lit up her face. She looked similar to a rather unfavorable beet "So I was wondering, if you would maybe… Um if you would…" For a record breaking two minutes she babbled nonsense. Tom was losing his patience "would you be interested in attending the Halloween Ball with me?" Finally she had spit it out.
Only for the sake of keeping up appearances did he refrain from saying some rather unorthodox things to her. Sighing heavily Tom rested his elbow against the table, and propped his chin into his palm "I am sorry Myrtle, but I have no intentions of going to that dance." He replied, taking great joy in the way her face fell.
Idly her finger began twirling a strand of hair around it "O-Oh okay." She mumbled dejectedly. Tom knew that she was on the verge of tears, and honestly he would like to see the ugly beet cry. Momentarily he wondered how much more hideous she would be amid uncontrollable sobbing. Tom imagined that her pillow would see as much tonight "Sorry that I b-bothered you." She whispered turning her back on him, shielding him from her pathetic tears. Damn it he wanted to see that. Oh well… Tom didn't bother to see her walk away. She didn't mean anything to him. In fact he couldn't care less about the dumb girl.
Tom eyed his book bag. After all there were greater thing underway than going to a dance. He needed to open the chamber and learn how to control the beast within it. It was a key component to the bigger picture. Tom wasn't completely sure what was sealed away down there—the books hadn't exactly specified—but he knew that it was powerful. If he could only harness the beast's capabilities, and have it do his bidding, then that would speed up his plans tenfold…Tom would need the extra time. He was pressed to execute and establish a group of formidable deatheaters before the year ended. Too much precious time had been taken by gathering them together. This year he had to take a series of steps to bring those ungrateful brats to their full potential. It would be quite the trial, and so there simply was no time for such petty things as dances.
Hermione's POV
His hands slid down her arms in the clumsiest of manners, his lips moving uncertainly against hers. That was her Ron. Carefully the palms of his hands dropped from her elbows to her slim waist. Ron leaned back to look at her flushed face, and Hermione loved the contented smile that graced his lips "Hermione." He whispered softly as one of his hands disappeared into his slacks pocket. Tilting her head cutely to the side, she look up at him in curiosity "Gime your hand Mione'." She easily complied with his request, and delicately rested her hand into his palm. Gently, shakily he glided a thin golden band on to her ring finger.
"Ron..?"
His face lit up bright red "Uh I'm not proposing or nothing." He said quickly. Hermione furrowed her brows, confused by what the ring represented. Ron scratched the back of his head in embarrassment "It's a promise ring." He explained. Hermione stared down at the gleaming band, her heart faltering as she began to understand the meaning behind it "So uh… Do you like it?" He asked with a nervous look on his face.
Hermione beamed up at him "It's lovely Ron." She murmured.
Fluttering her lashes Hermione blinked once, twice… again. Slowly the sleep ridden haze began to disperse, and her vision began to clear and focus. With a soft, sweet little yawn Hermione sit up with heavy lidded eyes. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes Hermione was surprised to find her cheeks damp. Why was I crying? She wondered as she stretched her arm high above her head. The dream she had had wasn't a particularly sad one. Glancing around her room Hermione was impacted with harsh reality. Memories of the last twenty four hours began to resurface, and she was cruelly reminded that her world had be flipped upside down. Ron had cheated on her with Lavender, and as if things couldn't get worse she had been mysteriously transported fifty years into the past. A bitter taste filled Hermione's mouth as she recalled her current situation. How unfair it was. It seemed as though the universe never wanted her to see a moment's of peace ever again.
"You're finally up I see." Glancing up Hermione was met with a very young Minerva McGonagall. Minerva smiled politely "I'm afraid Professor Dumbledore won't be able to see you until later this evening." She informed Hermione as she settled in beside her on the couch.
"Thank you." Hermione mumbled as she pulled her legs tightly against her chest, and rested her chin in her knees. She just didn't feel like a great lot of conversation.
Minerva rolled her eyes. Hermione could almost hear what she was thinking. Stop wallowing in self-pity. Pick yourself up Granger! "While you were asleep I was able to find you a uniform. You should get changed." Minerva suggested motioning to her canopy bed where the uniform was hanging from a post. Hermione gazed up at the skirt and blouse for a moment before burying her head into her knees. She didn't want to put that uniform on. She didn't want to leave this room and pretend that everything was normal and all fine and dandy. With an irritated sigh Minerva stood up "Sitting here feeling bad for yourself won't help you at all." She chided firmly while pecking on the top of Hermione's head to get her attention "I don't know your situation Hermione, but you'll never recover from it if you don't try." Minerva wrapped both her hands around Hermione's thin wrists "So come on." She gave Hermione a tug, putting all her weight into it, and succeeding in pulling the dejected girl to her feet. Minerva smiled brightly at her "That it!" She cheered, obviously ecstatic about her progress "Now then I have one more class. But while I'm gone you should get a bath and slip into your uniform." The young professor had already started to gather her books together, and was starting to stuff them into her book bag "I have set out some fresh towels." She mentioned while shoving a blank scroll into her already cramped bag "Please feel free to use my soaps." She chimed just as the door closed behind her.
Once again Hermione was alone.
Eyeing that uniform hanging off the bed post Hermione sighed in defeat. McGonagall was right. She needed to do this "Okay Hermione, let's try to look presentable." She told herself as she headed to the bathroom. Snatching the uniform from the bed on her way.
Sitting on the edge of the tub, Hermione leaned over and twisted the crystal knobs. Warm water rushed down from the faucet and spread across the porcelain bottom. A small amount of steam rising into the air. Breathing in deeply Hermione was able to relax just a little. Perhaps a nice, hot bath was what she truly needed. As she waited for the tub to fill up, Hermione turned her attention to the mirror hanging above the sink. The condensation from the bath was already sticking to the reflective glass. Going back to her bath Hermione twisted the knobs backwards, cutting off the steady stream of water. Ridding herself of the long night gown and panties, Hermione descended into the water. One leg at a time she stepped in. The water was impossibly warm against her bare legs. It felt rather good to the overly stressed witch. Slowly she slid down into the water, reveling in the way it warmed her to the bone. Smiling to herself Hermione leaned her head against the back of the tub. For a while she simply stared at the mosaic tiled ceiling. It was an astonishing piece. A very intricate scene of a beautiful woman perched in the crevice of a crescent moon. She wore a flowing, long, deep purple dress whose tail dangled off of the moon. I wonder if that has a story... Memorizing the details of the work Hermione thought about the story of Celeste. She imagined that the tragic witch resembled the one in the mosaic. What an intriguing notion… As she sank deeper into the water Hermione allowed her thoughts to wander.
One particular thought pertained to Minerva McGonagall. Hermione had never before considered what she had looked like as a student. To her the older woman with round framed glasses, smile lines around her mouth, and greying hair piled into a bun atop of her head had been Minerva McGonagall. She had never taken the time to imagine her professor to appear as anything else. So when Hermione had met her last night it was a bit stunning to see this very different McGonagall. Her younger years had been very kind to her. She was a very beautiful girl. Thick mahogany hair flowing to her shoulders in fine, silky waves, flawless porcelain skin, and a body formed in plenty of curves. Hermione had to admit that her professor had been a looker for sure. Absently she wondered if McGonagall had broken very many hearts in her youth. Hermione liked to think that she had. After all she was gorgeous, any boy would love to have her at his side. Smiling Hermione entertained the idea of staying a while, just to see what her old professor had been like as a high-spirited seventh year. She was willing to bet it would be rather amusing.
Wrapping up her bath Hermione pulled the plug from the drain, pulled a clean towel around her, and climbed over the side of the tub. Feeling a bit water logged Hermione trudged over to the uniform on the back of the door. She allowed the towel to fall to the floor, and reached up to unclasp the familiar black robe from the hanger. Noticing a bulge in the pocket Hermione stuck her hand inside, and pulled out a clean pair of panties and a bra. Both embarrassed and relieved Hermione dawned her under wear. Once the proper adjustments were made to her plain white under garments, the witch slipped into her black pleated skirt. As always the fabric touched her mid-thigh. Well the uniforms haven't changed. She thought privately as she pulled the white button up shirt over her arms, and on to her shoulders. Fixing the collar, Hermione began to work on the row of white buttons down her blouse. She didn't have a tie just yet, and she suspected it was because she hadn't be sorted into a house. Once she had fully dressed herself, Hermione began the trials with her unruly hair.
Eventually she was presentable. Alright Hermione, let's do this.
A/N: Thank you for reading, and please leave any comments below! :)
