Chapter 21 Tropidechis - Why?
Venenum
By Koryander
Dear Ectur - No. Paper ball.
Please, Ectur - very desperate. Paper ball.
Dear Mr Prewett - Very formal. Paper ball.
Ectur, would you like to be my date to the Halloween ball?
I look forward to your reply.
-Mary Runcorn.
Perfect! Mary folded the letter. Well, I hope it's all right. Please, God! Please! She begged. Her heart hammered and she felt strange butterflies in her stomach. She clutched the letter to her chest and gathered her courage, her mind still begging the universe to fulfil her wish. Please!
Hermione leaned her head on her arms, looking dejected as she sat at the breakfast table. Ectur noticed her gloomy expression and asked, "Hermione?"
However, she did not answer. "Would you like for a brownie with strawberry pieces?" It's good."
Hermione declined the food, possibly appetising, however, she didn't feel like consuming.
Lyall Lupin inquired, "What's ailing her?"
While she wasn't concentrating on the communication, she observed a perplexed shrug from the cohort. Hermione was amazed at the stillness when they ceased speaking, and Ectur's throat noise broke
it.
"Professor Dumbledore!" he exclaimed, while Hermione felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up and met Dumbledore's gaze through his half-moon glasses.
He placed a small, thick and pearly vial next to her on the table, which he had given her out of care.
As she stood up and embraced him, understanding the vote of confidence he had offered, she thanked him profusely.
"Professor Dumbledore...", Hermione whispered.
Meanwhile, Ectur, Bilius, Lyall, and Fred Longbottom watched with confusion but smiling. Across the Great Hall, a furious Tom Riddle observed the scene with an iron grip on the knife he held. He angrily pierced the smoked ham with his fork. His thoughts were highly inappropriate, and if acted upon, they would result in a lifetime imprisonment in Azkaban. The scene left those in the Great Hall shocked and terrified. Avery observed Tom's tightened grip, along with others, but nudged Mulciber before he could ask anything.
Tom follows her gaze as she quickly gathers her belongings and walks away from the Gryffindor table without a second glance. Ectur Prewett mentions attempting to follow her, but is halted by Bilius who makes a comment, causing Ectur to sit down with a look on his face resembling a kicked dog.
Tom Riddle promptly rises from his seat without any formalities, leaving no room for interruption or following.
To hell with the first lesson of the day. He has more pressing matters to attend to.
He discovered her entering the Potions and Alchemy room clandestinely, capitalizing on the time when the bulk of students and teachers would be eating breakfast before embarking on the day's activities. Her appearance was unkempt, and her movements were not very covert, exhibiting more haste than discretion. It was evident that she simply wanted to obtain what she needed and leave as soon as possible.
Upon arriving at the doorway, he observed two separate components.
"Ah, well. What do we have here?" Tom quickly locks the door behind him and with another swift motion, secures the windows, making the room darker. He notices her close her eyes at the sound of his voice and places the bottle she's holding on the table while taking a deep breath.
Tom watches her patiently though his presence seems to bother her.
Irritated, he asks, "Did you tell him?"
"What precisely did I tell?" she responds. "May I ask to whom you are referring?" Hermione turned to face him, her expression quickly softening to Tom's great delight.
So annoying.
"Who would that be?" His jaw tenses up.
"Dumbledore has no knowledge of any agreements we made."
"So he magically gave you the Phoenix tear, from Fawkes, unaware of any details?" He raised an eyebrow, circling the table and slowly approaching like a snake, peering down.
Hermione observed Tom's chilly and doubtful expression and the glint of viciousness in his eyes. She understood that being alone with him now was more hazardous than ever before. Hermione doubted she could strike any bargains with him or pacify his malice or curiosity.
"Tom," she ventured.
"Do you believe I'm foolish, Hermione? Do you genuinely expect me to buy your story?"
He articulated the words as if Hermione were a Death Eater-in-waiting.
"I speak honestly." She desired to hold her position, but the task was complicated as she observed the firm grasp he had on the bone wand, causing her hand to itch to call her wand - that belonged to Harry - from its holster.
"Is that the case?" Tom inclined his head to one side. His tone held a slight hint of sarcasm. Both he and Hermione gazed at the bottle holding Fawkes' tear before returning their attention to each other.
"Accio!" They both yelled simultaneously, the vial containing a Phoenix tear hovering between them as an unseen force tugged in opposite directions. Upon observing the vial veering towards Tom's position, Hermione intensified her thought, and the spell for summoning became stronger. Tom was becoming increasingly agitated at the sight of her determined efforts, despite her lack of submission. The visible veins on the side of his face and neck indicated his rising frustration. In order to release the anger that had been building up over the past few weeks, he felt the need to vent.
Anyone who entered the classroom would experience the intense magical duel underway. Two sister wands wrestled for dominance with opposing desires and remarkable power.
Hermione woke from the sound of shattering glass and witnessed the spectacle from a new perspective. She was taken aback by the intense loathing in Tom's gaze, directed squarely at her. It was unclear what had prompted his anger.
The glass continued to crack, causing Hermione's heart to skip a beat as she anticipated the bottle's breakage.
"Tom!" she shouted. The force of her release caused her to overbalance and collide with one of the tables, injuring her hip and elbow. Tom also lost his balance as a result of her sudden movement, but he managed to maintain a grip on the Phoenix vial.
She took a few quick breaths as using magic had a draining effect on her. Hermione observed Tom's actions, noticing that he was examining an object in his hands.
A sinister, self-assured smile spread across his face, causing Hermione's arm hairs to stand on end. Victorious, he raised his arm with the intent of smashing the object into many pieces upon the ground. Logically, as magical beings with sentience, it would have been easier to break the bottle using magic. However, it would not have been as satisfying as witnessing Hermione's despair as she dragged herself .
"No!" she shouted, holding out her hand to stop him.
Tom halted, squinting with the top corner of his lip raised. "What's the matter, Hermione? Can't Dumbledore offer you another one?"
"I didn't tell him anything!" she repeated, her fists clenched, but one held her wand. The wand tip emitted a glow, causing the chairs to shake. It was involuntary magic. Hermione, an advanced-level student, found it unsettling and illogical. As a rule, she always tried to keep her emotions in check. She even struggled with magic that dealt with feelings. However, even the best-known wizards and adults could not resist such a natural force.
Tom appeared unconcerned by Hermione's lack of control, in fact, he seemed to be mocking her, as he was also drawing strength from his emotions. However, the contrast between the two was in how they channeled this power.
"Perhaps you would like to consider returning the book to the library? It is difficult to predict what Dumbledore or even Dippet might do." Hermione suggested. "You could face expulsion, Tom."
Hermione's warning carried significant weight given her positive relationship with Dumbledore. Tom's eyes were a shade of green that resembled greyish-green marbles.
He lunged forward with the intentions of intimidating or attacking, only to be stopped at the length of Hermione's wand. The glowing tip rested against the centre of his chest as the chairs ceased shaking when Hermione focused her magic.
"You underestimate me."
Tom was not afraid or distressed by the overt threat since he strongly believed that he was not capable of being hurt. Even when angry, Hermione expressed herself by staring at him . Even in anger, Hermione directed her query at him with the words,
"Why are you like this?" In that brief moment, Tom recognised disappointment in her voice and gaze. He pondered who Hermione believed herself to be to feel disappointment
"I have no obligation ," he growled. "And certainly not to you, Hermione." Hermione extended her hand.
"Please return the bottle to me. Otherwise, I swear to God that I'll report everything to Dumbledore and Dippet. It belongs to me. You can threaten or curse me, but Dumbledore will uncover the truth - that is certain."
Hermione didn't wait for an answer, her outstretched hand grabbed the vial, then picked up the cross-body bag, storing the other ingredients and potions, never taking her eyes off Tom and never lowering her wand.
"Just so you know, I didn't really say anything. But that doesn't matter anymore..." She unlocked the door quietly, without giving herself time to turn back and leave. This left Tom with no opportunity to attack her from behind.
She ran on, frequently checking over her shoulder and holding her breath as she saw him pursuing her. He moved with heavy footsteps, the Slytherin robe he wore reminiscent of Professor Snape. In his hand was the wand made of bone.
As she turned her head to glance back, she accidentally collided with someone, causing her to lose her balance.
"Hermione, are you alright?" Ectur helped Hermione regain her balance by holding onto one arm.
Tom called out her name in an authoritative manner and approached them. "We need to talk," he said.
Recognising that something was amiss, Ectur intervened.
"Riddle -," he began.
Tom glared at Ectur, feeling both angry and scornful. "This has nothing to do with you, excuse us." He shooed Prewett away, annoyed that Hermione was hiding behind him.
Although Ectur felt offended by Tom's demand, he looked to Hermione for guidance on the situation. Understanding the question with a gaze, Hermione spoke.
"Come on, Ectur. There is nothing I want to hear," she said, taking Ectur's hand and leading him away from Tom, ensuring their safety.
Tom, however, did not want to be left behind and so he grabbed Hermione's wrist. "Miss Granger, it is not that simple."
Ectur, sensing the tension between them, pushed Tom slightly, although he was unaware of the reason for their argument. Not to be confrontational, but to create distance, which Tom perceived as an offense, he swiftly pushed Ectur's hand and arm away.
"This matter does not concern you, so keep out of it, Prewett!"
The professor passing by, whose ransacked laboratory belonged to him, overheard a loud argument permeating the corridor. Slughorn's surprise was evident as he beheld two of his best students bickering.
"What is happening here?" he inquired. Professor Slughorn observed the scene before him, with Tom Riddle and Ectur Prewett in argument, while an uncomfortable Hermione tried to pull Prewett away. They all stopped at once, mouths agape.
Tom was prompt to accuse and point, "Them, Professor Slughorn!"
"What?!" Hermione and Ectur spoke simultaneously.
Slughorn raised his hands in a pacifying gesture as he was overwhelmed by the amount of information. "Please calm down, everyone. Let's proceed to my classroom, shall we? I need to understand why two of my top pupils are having a disagreement."
The trio found themselves seated before Slughorn's desk; Tom occupied the far right, Prewett sat in the centre, and Hermione on the far left.
"What occurred?" Slughorn queried, gesturing towards Tom. As customary, he allocated the opportunity to Tom, who smirked sardonically at the others in his vicinity.
"I was merely fulfilling my obligations as a prefect of Hogwarts, Headmaster Slughorn. It came to my attention that Miss Granger was searching your laboratory without permission." During informal interactions, Tom usually addressed Slughorn as "Headmaster" instead of "Professor," given that he was the head of Slytherin House.
Slughorn and Prewett appeared taken aback, even shocked, by Tom's account of the incident.
"Miss Granger?" Slughorn enquired.
"It is a misunderstanding, Professor Slughorn."
"No, it's not!"
"Really?" Tom interrupted Hermione. Hermione countered.
"I was in the laboratory, but I did not take at all!" Hermione stood up abruptly and said to the professor, "I was just organizing some potions that I'm uncertain about so we can discuss them at the next club meeting." She then proceeded to upend her cross-body bag on Slughorn's desk, urging him to take a look. All that was present were the books, the parchment notes, some sweets and the her beaded handbag. "I did not take anything."
"And you, Mr Prewett?"
"Ah... I was looking for Miss Granger. We had arranged to study Arithmancy together," Ectur explained, feeling the weight of Hermione's stare, while Tom's attention seemed to pierce Hermione even more intensely, if possible.
While Slughorn was giving some kind of lecture, his voice was in the background of Tom's mind, as he watched Hermione, his gaze moving to the objects on the table, analysing, studying what she had possibly done, how she had tricked him.
"There was nothing to worry about, Tom." She said objectively. She turned to Tom before continuing, "While I believed we were friends, I am deeply offended by your behaviour." She then took a seat, folding her arms across her chest in a closed gesture. The language used is clear, formal and balanced.
"Tom?" Slughorn caught his eye.
"Yes?"
Headmaster Slughorn indicated his expectations to Tom with a nod towards Hermione.
Tom appeared to swallow a lump in his throat before making a sound and turning towards Hermione. She was astonished by his ability to maintain a passive and inexpressive demeanour, finding it impressive and intimidating.
"I apologize, Miss Granger, for any misunderstanding and inappropriate behaviour," Tom stated. "I hope this is not too awkward but I must explain that I carried out my duty. I also hope that we can maintain a cordial relationship without any animosity. "
As Hermione approached Professor Slughorn and packed her bag, there was no denying the public apology that had placed her in a delicate position with the Slytherin Headmaster. She made a sound that could be interpreted as agreement, "Hmm," before leaving. "I apologise, Professor, with your permission..".
Both, Hermione and Prewett turned to face Professor Slughorn, with Prewett nodding in acknowledgement. He then offered his arm to Hermione in a chivalrous manner and escorted her through the office door, which had opened for her. Tom watched the scene intently and didn't miss a single gesture, with his primary focus on Ectur. After Hermione had gone through, Ectur followed and closed the door.
"A common error in judgement," he remarked. The voice of the Slytherin Headmaster roused Tom from his reverie, and he inclined his head at the sound. "That doesn't take away from the brilliance of your work, young man." Slughorn paused. "Emotions can momentarily cloud the direction of our thoughts, it's normal to feel threatened."
Threatened? Tom furrowed his brow, trying to decipher Slughorn's cryptic words. What was Slughorn talking about? Tom paused, unsure of Slughorn's meaning.
"The hearts of the young," Slughorn sighed. "But if I were you, I wouldn't let her go. Fight for her, my boy, or young Prewett may take her first. I must admit, I'm on your side."
Tom looked at the statement carefully: "What makes you think Prewett poses a threat to me?"
"Well, judging by your physique." Slughorn indicated Tom's fists, which he had not even noticed were clenched. This appeared to perplex him for a moment.
Horatio Slughorn was no fool, in fact, as a good slytherin he was quite observant, he wouldn't have got this far if he hadn't been a good and astute teacher. Foolish were those who underestimated him.
You underestimate me. Hermione's words echoed in Tom's mind;
—
"We weren't going to study Arithmancy together."
"We really weren't going to.
Hermione was the first to speak. "You didn't have to do that, but I appreciate it anyway."
There was silence.
"Did you get it?" Prewett inquired after a moment, placing his hands in his trousers' pockets and staring at the floor as they strolled down the hall leading out of the Slytherin region. "The potions. Did you get them?"
"No," she responded. The lie came easy, too easy. "Do you doubt it?" She asked.
"N-no! I mean... I didn't mean any offence."
"It's all right, Ectur, no offence." She smiled. "Why don't you go to class? I'll see you later." Hermione proceeded to the Gryffindor girls' dormitory without giving him an opportunity to argue.
o0o
"What is Fawkes doing?" Hermione inquired, observing the bird of prey stretching its wings and pecking at its feathers, as if searching for something. The Phoenix then shook itself, causing its feathers to bristle before resettling into place. A feather came out of Fawkes' long tail, slowly flying to meet the ground, stopped by its owner, who held it in place with his beak, flapping his wings and flying out through Dumbledore's office window to who knows where.
"A donation, that's what he's doing. Fawkes rarely donates one of his feathers, but he thought it was necessary. I'm not trying to stop him. Fawkes' loyalty to me is a friendship, I don't force him to do anything he doesn't want to do. That's not how friends work."
"A donation..." Hermione murmured, her gaze falling to the wand in her hands. Harry's wand.
—
What is sex if not human reproduction? What is sex, in a more complicated way, than the incessant search for pleasure? And what about attraction? Isn't it inevitably linked to sexual desire? Natural sexual selection in choosing a compatible partner? Augmented by adornment, perfume, behaviour? Even genetic, psychological or more amorphous qualities?
It's mainly when there's some kind of connection? A reciprocity, perhaps?
THE HALLOWEEN BALL!
FIND YOUR PARTNER FOR THE DANCE.
The Halloween ball was the talk of the school, with whispers, laughter, and comical attempts to secure dates. Hermione longed to escape the buzz, but she couldn't avoid receiving an invitation to the festivities.
She let out a deep sigh and leaned her head against the cold stone walls of the castle, closing her eyes.
"I know you've done something."
Tom's voice startled her, and she opened her eyes in surprise. He stood next to her, with one foot resting against the wall and his arms crossed. Hermione couldn't fathom how he had appeared so quietly and stealthily. "You cannot deceive me."
He didn't express any menace, nor did his facial expression suggest anything. Contrarily, he remained neutral, impassive, and meek. Hermione harboured suspicions towards his behaviour, yet she fixated her gaze on the medieval floor as if it held the solution to all her problems.
"I'm unaware of what you're referring to, Tom."
"Don't play the fool." He cautioned.
Ah, there it is; that behaviour, I recognise it.
"God forgive me for thinking such thoughts." She shrugged while Tom frowned. "I was taught from the best one," she sighed. "What can you accuse me of? There's no way of proving it." Hermione lifted her head and turned towards him.
He was also staring at her, with a momentary expression of disgust.
"Would you like some advice?" Hermione asked, but he didn't reply. "Go for me, return the book without anyone seeing."
She swiftly departed, leaving him to ponder, but she knew giving Tom time to contemplate was akin to providing the enemy with ammunition. Nevertheless, it was necessary for the greater good. The book in possession of Tom should be returned to the library shelves to allow Dumbledore to locate it and restore everything to its correct order.
She did not do Tom a favour, but rather herself.
On that night, Tom inspected the contents of his trunk in the Slytherin boys' dormitory. Tom's eyes landed on the book titled The Secret of the Dark Arts. He gathered his belongings and slung his crossbody bag over his shoulder before turning to leave. However, he accidentally collided with Avery, who was in the middle of putting on his pyjama shirt. "What's going on?"
Avery inquired, noticing Tom's rushed demeanour.
"It's not of your business," Tom responded. Tom interrupts Avery without considering his feelings, causing Avery to feel insignificant and reminding him of his subordinate position.
"Apologies, sir," Avery's voice lowers, but Tom does not have the time to hear his remorse. He strides past Avery and pounds rudely on the door to the dormitory. One advantage of aspiring for the position of Hogwarts prefect was the ability to move around during the night periods, albeit with limitations for individuals who did not hold the titles of Head Boy or Head Girl. Nonetheless, there was a certain degree of freedom that he made use o
He made his way towards the library, enveloped by the shadows of the night that concealed his presence. After pausing for a moment to wait for Madame Imogen to let her guard down, Tom seized the opportunity to enter the library. Madame Imogen was taken aback by the circularity of the air when one of the parchments flew off her desk. She scanned her surroundings to identify the source of the movement, but found nothing within her field of vision. The candle that never melted flickered, and the library door closed softly.
With the disillusionment spell in place, Tom carefully slipped unnoticed into the forbidden area of the library, as there were magical alarms that would report unauthorized taking of any item by a student. With the disillusionment spell in place, Tom carefully slipped unnoticed into the forbidden area of the library, as there were magical alarms that would report unauthorized taking of any item by a student. He checked around and he hummed softly as he explored the practically restricted section.. With gentle caresses, he ran his fingers through the contents, which did not frighten him in any way.
Then Tom discovered the small, obscure slot reserved for the darkest book in the library, nestled between two thick tomes.
Removing the book from his menssenger bag, he performed a levitation spell, causing The Secrets of the Dark Arts to float in the air according to his command. As he heard approaching commotion, he paused.
Dumbledore's footsteps resounded down the corridor as he entered the library, where Madame Imogen stood up upon seeing him.
"Headmaster Dumbledore, to what do I owe this pleasure? How can I be of assistance?" she inquired.
"Is everything in order, Mrs Imogen? You needn't fret - I'm simply here to retrieve a book that should no longer be accessible to the students."
"A book? What might that be? Some books can only be accessed with authorization from the Headmasters or teachers. I strictly enforce the rules, Headmaster Dumbledore. "
"I am confident in your efforts, Mrs Imogen." Dumbledore turned his back on her and walked further into the library. Madame Imogen attempted to follow closely, but her short legs and high heels made it difficult, especially with Dumbledore's long strides. Madame Imogen's shoes made a constant noise as she briskly followed Dumbledore, clearly displeased that the section of the Castle under her supervision was being thoroughly searched.
"Is there a particular item you are looking for? I am well acquainted with this library."
"I am certain," replied Dumbledore, before halting and proceeding to the restricted area shelves. With a snap of his fingers, the Secret of the Dark Arts was retrieved from the highest shelf.
Imogen gasped and clutched her chest theatrically.
Dumbledore scrutinised the book like an eagle, his eyes narrowing. "Have any students recently come into contact with this book?" He enquired of Imogen, who took a few steps back at the sudden change.
"No, absolutely not," she quickly responded. "That book has never been taken off the shelf."
"Someone has used it recently."
"That's impossible." Imogen's glasses nearly fell off her face as she denied any student contact with the book. "I can confirm with absolute certainty that this book has not been in contact with any student," she said.
Despite her statement, Dumbledore was more upset than he appeared. While he did not question Madame Imogen's innocence, it was evident that a student had managed to steal the book without anyone realizing it. At that moment, a faint light caught his attention in the far corner of the library.
"Tom, what brings you here?" asked Dumbledore in a composed tone, with Imogen standing beside him.
As he approached, he found a peculiar sight. Tom sat before them, surrounded by scattered papers, taking notes under the flickering light of a chandelier.
"Wh-what's the time?" he asked.
Tom looked astonished as everyone's attention was on him.
"Tom." Dumbledore pronounced his name, and Tom discerned the hidden message behind the tone of voice.
"I believe I've missed the time. In preparing for the next Divination lesson on symbology, I was engrossed in taking notes and lost track of the time." He spoke abruptly. "He wasn't unobserved, I reckon he was present already."
Dumbledore turned to Imogen, causing her to flinch.
"He didn't arrive unnoticed, I suspect he'd already been here."
Dumbledore put the tome on the table, over the exquisitely penned parchments, prompting Tom to peer at the cover as if it were evidence of a wrongdoing and he were being interrogated. He glanced at the book with a haughty expression, despite bowing his head in front of others.
"Have you read this book, Tom?" Dumbledore asked, and Tom opened his mouth to reply but Dumbledore proceeded with the discussion. "Pretending is not going to solve this, young man."
Tom inhaled deeply, expanding his chest, before exhaling. "I did not do anything," Tom said as he continued to stare at the book cover.
"Tom," Dumbledore admonished.
"I did not do anything," Tom said as he continued to stare at the book cover. "I am unaware of what you are referring to."
It is not ethical to assert oneself against a Headmaster and a teacher. Although it was one of the most significant statements that Tom had ever made in his life, he continued to insist that he was merely studying and had not committed any wrongdoing.
Madame Imogen interrupted, placing a hand on Dumbledore's arm even though she did not want to infringe upon the Gryffindor Headmaster's authority.
"Headmaster Dumbledore, Tom Riddle is a diligent young man who loves reading and has never violated any is not uncommon for him to study late, and it is not the first time he has done so; however, this time he has exceeded his welcome." She looked at Tom, not so much irritated with him as with the situation. "I am confident in the boy's integrity."
It was Imogen who retrieved the book from Tom. He then gathered his belongings, packed them into his bag and slung it over his shoulder.
"I apologise for the inconvenience, Mrs Imogen. It won't happen again." Tom nodded respectfully. "Headmaster." Dumbledore's name was not spoken and with a wave of his wand, the candles flickered out. The three figures were immersed in a murky twilight, and Tom was the first to depart, brushing past the librarian and Dumbledore.
The latter watched as Tom left the library, looking deeply upset as if unjustly blamed. Imogen clung to the book, dark though it was, it remained a book. Dumbledore now pondered whether his actions had been too hasty.
Outside the library, Tom exhaled audibly, feeling the onset of a headache at the base of his skull. He stretched his neck to both sides, attempting to alleviate the discomfort. With a sense of relief, he thought, "That was a close one," as he made his way back to the dungeons. Suddenly, he paused, sensing a chill creeping up his spine and the sensation of being observed.
This was not the first occurrence.
Being watchful of his surroundings, he scanned the hallway shadows for any movement.
Tom whispered "Lumos." The light beam emerged from the bone wand's tip..
"Who is there?" he inquired, taking cautious steps toward a column from where he had detected a presence. As he drew nearer, he discovered nothing, but the uneasiness didn't wane. His innermost instincts signaled that something was amiss, yet he couldn't determine the culprit. Hermione Granger's name flickered in his mind. It made sense that it might be her; after all, she had encouraged him to return the book.
Now, no longer disregarding the persistent sensation.
Later that same evening, as he rested his head on the pillow, Tom gazed upwards at the bed canopy ceiling, his mind racing through the events of the past few days. Amidst everything, he imagined that his anger towards Dumbledore remained unsatisfied and, on the contrary, it hurt his ego more and more as he couldn't retort. He suspected that Dumbledore disliked him since childhood and this irritated him like an unhealable splinter in his finger. Tom asked why.
The intense desire to hurt was coursing through Tom's veins, causing him discomfort. He felt a blind urge to act, yet remained unmoved.
He squeezed his pillow while turning from side to side, attempting to divert his thoughts. In his mind's eye, he saw a chaotic scene - shattered glass, emerald sand slipping through his fingers, and a faint whispering in snake-like language. It wasn't a dream, nor could it be considered imagination. It was akin to a slightly displaced memory that he struggled to interpret fully.
"Tom!" he heard a sigh, a moan that he first interpreted as a sign of distress, but was soon disproved by a gasp - so real he thought it was right next to his ear. A chill ran down his spine; he shuddered at the intensity of the sensation. As Tom struggled to decipher the reality of the experience, he questioned if it had been a dream or a figment of his imagination.
In the morning, he awoke feeling groggy with a throbbing headache like a hangover. Nevertheless, he proceeded to prepare for the day with his customary efficiency, exhibiting his emotions minimally. Nevertheless, there was something eerie in his gaze, a restless gleam that appeared to mirror the remnants of the unsettling experience from the previous night.
As Tom dressed, he tried to push the invading images out of his mind. He was resolute in remaining composed and not allowing the incident to impact him. However, the whispering voice triggered his primal instincts.
Like the emblematic animal of his House, Tom Riddle had been waiting patiently, in his opinion, for too long to seize a perfect opportunity. He was discontent with recent events' progress and the absence of satisfying answers to his thoughts.
Annoyed because she, Hermione Granger, looked, frankly, radiant. As if everything was going wonderfully, perhaps openly mocking her victory against him, because that's how Tom saw it. Her happiness pushed his temper buttons. However, even in the face of this, Tom knew he couldn't be reckless, not with her, after all she seemed to know very well how to play him, so he waited. His moment would come, that much he knew for sure.
Hermione was content and pleased to have found a solution for Harry's well-being. She would prepare the potion tonight in a secure location. She intended to begin without delay. She anticipated the progression of the day, lessons, lunch, afternoon, studies, dinner and discussions in the Common Room. Time passed unnoticed as she prepared for bed, her heart racing. Resting her head on her pillow, she counted the minutes until the dormitory fell silent. Having established that it was safe to leave without causing disturbance, she quietly donned her Gryffindor dressing gown over her pyjamas and retrieved her shoulder bag before venturing into the corridors of Hogwarts.
His goal was to reach the first floor where the statue of Gregory the Smarmy was located, as it concealed one of the secret passages that led to Hogsmeade.
The robe obscured her figure and the hood covered her hair, enabling her to blend into the darkness like an executioner.
Tom was conducting his duties as a Prefect and finishing his rounds when he heard a sound. It was not footsteps, rather a noise resembling something being dragged or moved. He halted, narrowed his gaze and attempted to listen more intently. When he went back to the corridor he had just left, he tried to remain calm, in case it was a student, although he questioned this idea. The person, whoever they might be, was stealthily moving up behind the statue of Gregory, prompting Tom to ponder about their intentions. Despite Tom's identification of the dressing gown and hood as belonging to a student, he could not identify the individual. The reactions and sensations of being observed would have been more comprehensible had the individual is there.
However, it was the sudden disclosure of their countenance that piqued Tom's interest.
It was Hermione Granger, sneaking around the castle. He was perplexed by her destination and the significance of the statue.
Where to? Why the statue?
"Revellium." With a whispered incantation and a wave of the wand, the statue's back opened to reveal a hidden passageway. She paused to survey the path, then determinedly moved forward. At first, Tom remained behind, observing as the passage closed and the statue returned to its original position. With a slow steps, he approached the bulky statue, its imposing size casting a shadow over him, studying the intricate details of the marble. A small smile began to spread across Tom's face.
Muttering the same spell, the passage opened for Tom to enter.
His heart raced with excitement as he proceeded into the concealed passage. Though he had heard tales of the covert tunnels under the castle that branched off in different directions, he had never envisioned the chance to explore them on his own. The tunnel was dimly lit and musty, but Tom persevered, keen to discover its end. As he walked along the meandering path, he pondered the originator of this route.
Since he couldn't detect Hermione ahead of him, it was probable that she had already exited the passage. Tom hastened his pace, spurred on by his inquisitiveness. The moist atmosphere gave him chills, but he refused to halt. He was determined to learn the tunnel's destination. The walls were rough, constructed from stone. As he walked, he ran his fingers along them, feeling their texture. However, he soon began to sense wood and detect the scent of fresh earth. Eventually, he could see a light ahead.
As the path became narrower, he crouched down to exit the tunnel. The frigid night air embraced him, significantly colder, and the moon peeked through the clouds, illuminating his way. Tom surveyed his surroundings, trying to figure out where he was. It quickly became apparent that he was at the entrance of the Forbidden Forest, a long way from Hogsmeade. The thick, partially buried tree trunk they had passed was the path that had led them there.
Tom's thoughts drifted to Hermione Granger. What could she be doing here, on a chilly autumn evening and so far from Hogwarts? He followed her determined strides up the hill to the deserted Hogsmeade cottage, where she eventually came to a halt.
The derelict house had stood undisturbed for years, gradually decaying with no obvious incentive for anyone to venture inside, unless inclined to inhale dust and mould. Nevertheless, as Granger gazed from the entrance, her Gryffindor robe billowing in the wind, her intentions were evidently distinct.
For Hermione, the house could have served as a shelter due to its lack of usefulness to society, which makes it relatively safe. It not yet succumb to the notoriety of the screams, which would haunt it one day, or the fear that others might have. Or sheltered under the protective branches of the Whomping Willow .She found herself in front of what would one day become the infamous Shrieking shack.
It was at that moment she turned swiftly, and the clouds dissipated to unveil the radiant full moon, which illuminated her and her companion's silhouettes in the gentle moonlight. Surprised, she said,
"No!"
Unsure of how or when he arrived, and for what purpose, she cries out in a commanding voice, "Do not come any closer!"
He advances up the hill towards her with wide, confident gestures, although he appears calm. As he momentarily halts in response to her cry, his footsteps reverberate on the hill.
Catching her off guard, his resumption of steps causes her boldness to collapse like shattered glass, observed by Tom
"No," she stated firmly, while casting several spells to prevent him from approaching her. Nevertheless, he deflected them all. As he got closer, she attempted to flee, yet he grabbed her by the forearms. She twisted around and struggled to break free from his grip, shoving him and fighting for personal space that she found herself quickly losing.
"No!" she commanded. "Don't make me harm you, Tom!"
He pressed her against the wall of the house, causing the wood to groan slightly. His hands restrain her while there is just a slight gap between their bodies.
Despite mixed emotions, she is afraid and shaking, causing the wand to slip from her grasp. Her large deer-like eyes fixate on him.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" The top left corner of Tom's mouth twitches upwards, the start of a triumphant smile. He cannot help but show his excitement this time, especially as she has no choice but to confront him.
Tom observes the woman's facial features, including her freckles and parted lips. His gaze then shifts to her outfit, which includes pyjamas concealed by a Gryffindor robe, and wellies. Tom expresses a keen interest in the bag she carries.
As he presses the her against the house's , her breathing quickens and her hand instinctively reaches for his chest - though he notes her trembling fingers betray an attempt to escape his grasp.
There is much at stake, and it is clear who holds the upper hand. This presents an important opportunity to uncover her deepest secrets, delve into her memories, and extract all the self-assurance and pride she projects until nothing remains. Clarity and logical progression are crucial for a successful outcome.
He tilts his head and pauses, observing her eyes widen in terror at his expression.
Long, pale fingers stroke her hair's roots as he lowers her hood, uncovering her tawny mane, bushier than usual hair, dampened by the weather. The back of his hand gently brushes her cheek.
"Why are you so scared?" he inquires, his smirk conveying a sarcastic, ironic tone. She emits a sound that is a blend of sobbing and hopelessness in the back of her throat. "Shhh...shhh," Tom murmurs. Despite this, he genuinely wants to know the answer.
He grins, relishing the terror he incites, but witnessing her tears accumulating elicits a different response. She tilts her head, attempting to withdraw in defeat. However, he stops her. He lifts her chin so that she doesn't evade his gaze, and then he truly sees her. He lifts her chin so that she doesn't evade his gaze, and then he truly sees her.
Why?
Why?
This is a question he will ponder later. At present, there is no answer, and he has not yet conducted a self-analysis of this perplexity. He does not want to delve deeper because he is not ready to face the potential answers he may uncover. Nevertheless, this does not help him from performing the action.
There is no enchantment in it, no curse, not even a second's thought. It just happened. Longing for more.
He kissed because he desired to.
Author's Note:
Tropidechis, also known as the rough-scaled snake, is the twenty-first most venomous snake in the world.