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mickume

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"They claim he did wicked things," Tom muttered. "But... I suppose you’re right about his birth. It’s a shame. I might have been king otherwise." He smirked at her.

"Don’t you mean "prince,’ since your mother is alive?" she said pointedly. "And if you had, I wouldn’t exist, given who half of my ancestors were. Their conquest would have failed. For that matter, you might not exist as yourself. I would bet that your father was descended from people who came to this country after the ancients."

Tom looked sour for a moment. "I guess so."

At this point, the food arrived. Tom gazed at it: delicious shepherd’s pie, a staple of Hogsmeade. He was accustomed to hearty food now, but before his mother had come into her title, the food at Hogwarts and Hogsmeade had been somewhat of a shock to him. He still had a lot of appreciation for it. He picked up his spoon and began to eat.

Hermione smiled fondly at him. They had not had too many conversations that weren’t about magical theory or practice. It was quite nice to discuss other subjects, and it seemed to her to be a very good sign for the future. Even when they had differences of opinion, he sincerely considered hers, she noted. That was also good. Her own father had always shown respect to her mother, but whenever they had a difference of view, his opinion became law. Perhaps it would be different among witches and wizards. Witches, after all, had power of their own, and wizards had to acknowledge that if they were at all honest with themselves.

As they finished their lunch and their bowls emptied, something occurred to Hermione. "I am thirteen tomorrow," she said.

Tom set his spoon down. "I did not know that," he said. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

"I... we don’t observe it. I mean... non-magical people don’t make much fuss over dates of birth." She seemed somewhat embarrassed.

"Magical people do," Tom said firmly.

"Muggles solemnly observe the anniversary of someone’s death."

"Well, that’s completely grotesque," he declared. "You are one of us now, Hermione, so we’ll definitely observe that your birthday is tomorrow."

They paid for their meal and left the Three Broomsticks. Tom felt quite good about the entire conversation, and he was glad that Hermione had idly mentioned that her birthday was the following day. He would certainly buy something nice for her at one of the shops. She could not start observing wizarding customs quickly enough, really. Muggles were so ridiculous. Why observe the anniversary of a death? Perhaps, he granted to himself, Muggles would consider it a release from a grim world, and it wasn’t as if they had a choice in the matter anyway. But people with magic did. They could return as ghosts—or they could avoid it entirely.

More to the point, what in the world was wrong with celebrating birth—celebrating life? It was probably religious disapproval, he supposed. Tom was vaguely aware that his mother’s family had followed an ancient, otherwise extinct faith for a long time after it had died out in the rest of England, converting only around the time that Slytherin married into the family and co-founded Hogwarts. This was another thing he wanted to know more about, something that was in the books she had banned him from reading. His mother’s practice was still... idiosyncratic, he supposed. She kept a lot of magical customs that he rather doubted the Muggles would approve of, including observing the old holidays. As far as Tom could tell—not having read the forbidden books to find out for sure—the only major difference between her customs and that ancient religion was the number of deities she acknowledged.

In any case, it made eminent sense to him to observe someone’s birthday. He and his mother had always done so, even when they were poor. He felt sorry for Hermione, and he would buy her some candy, or something at the general store.

As Tom approached the store, someone caught a glimpse of them and called out. Tom and Hermione halted, recognizing the voice at once.

Potter approached them, another boy standing near him. "Hermione. Riddle. A good day for this, isn’t it?"

"Quite," Tom said stiffly. He eyed the companion. "Who is your friend?"

"Oh, this is Neville," said Potter. "He is in Gryffindor. He stood up for me just now when the Weasleys were...." Potter trailed off, noticing Neville’s awkwardness. "Do you know the Weasleys?" he asked, rallying himself as he changed the subject slightly.

"I do, somewhat," Tom said, his words frigid. "Not the newest one."

Hermione shot Tom a private, querying look, wondering what his issue was with the Weasleys. That tone of voice was the one he usually reserved for his enemies. "I have not had the opportunity to make their acquaintance," she said. "What were they doing?"

"Well, you must understand that my father was a Gryffindor, and so was my godfather Sirius Black, who lives with my family, and so a lot of people expected that I would go there too. The Hat almost placed me there," he added.

"I knew it," muttered Tom.

"The Weasleys are a family of boys with red hair—"

"—and nothing to their name," Tom sneered. "They used to be petty nobles, but they wouldn’t swear to Malfoy—Armand Malfoy—and so they lost everything. I know about it. Everyone eventually learns about it, because they’re so bloody proud of it."

"Riddle!" Harry gasped. "Hermione is here!"

Hermione chuckled. "I have heard it before, trust me."

Tom had actually been embarrassed for a moment about accidentally swearing in front of a lady, and annoyed with himself for making a gaffe in front of these boys of lower status, but he continued quickly, to move on. "The Weasleys never tried to improve themselves after that, either. Apparently, whenever one of them wants to leave—to make something out of himself—they consider that betraying the family honor." Contempt poured from Tom’s words in waves.

"My family wouldn’t swear to Malfoy either," the new boy, Neville, said quietly.

Tom was brought up short for a moment, but he quickly recovered. "And how did that work out for them?" he retorted.

Neville shrank back for a moment, but in the very next, Harry nudged him, while eyeing Tom through narrowed eyes. Neville took a breath to rally himself. "They actually have done well, if I may say so," he said. "My great-grandfather Longbottom—the one who renounced his knighthood—was married to a lady of the Black family, so she had money to start with. Malfoy wanted to seize that too, but the law prevented him. She was not the head of the family, the one who refused to take the oath, so she could keep her money."

"Well, all right, they weren’t completely stupid, but I still would have just taken the oath and kept the property, whether I meant the words or not," Tom declared.

"Swear falsely?" Neville exclaimed. He had not been shocked at Tom’s use of the word "bloody," but he was shocked at that.

Hermione knew Tom well enough by now that it did not exactly shock her to hear it, but it did somewhat surprise her that he had acknowledged it, even to boast of his presumed cleverness and pragmatism. She gazed at him with raised eyebrows. Harry, interestingly, had just enough cynicism—perhaps, Hermione thought, from having lived in a village ruled by one of the Malfoys, or living with his godfather, who had been exiled from his own family. Whatever the reason, he did not seem to think it a terrible idea.

"People swear falsely all the time," Tom said with a shrug. He had noticed Potter’s jaded reaction too.

"My great-grandfather was not an oathbreaker," Neville said stiffly. "My family did all right over the years. They’ve kept order here in Hogsmeade, and my father is set to be the next mayor after the current one steps down."

Tom was brought up short by that, but he would not speak and reveal the degree of his ignorance on the topic.

Hermione gave the boy an encouraging smile. "That sounds very different to the Weasley family, then. What did they do to you, Harry?" she asked, politely bringing the conversation back to its original topic.

"The twins and the newest one started to hex me for being in Slytherin," he muttered. "They said I’d betrayed my father."

Tom glowered. "That sounds like Weasleys. So self-righteous in their self-imposed poverty."

"Neville stood up to them," Harry said, with a grateful look to the other boy. "They tried to hex him, too, but we teamed up and drove them off."

"What did you use on them?" Tom asked greedily, his eyes flashing.

"Neville got them with a Stupefy, and I knew of a curse that makes slugs issue from someone’s mouth," Harry said, smirking.

Tom actually laughed at that. Hermione was disgusted for a brief moment at the thought of slugs in the mouth, but it sounded as if these boys had deserved it—and she was in favor of Harry having more friends than just herself. She managed a chuckle as well.

They bought candy—Tom paid for Hermione’s—and while she was temporarily distracted with that, he slipped into the general store that was next door, leaving Hermione in the company of the younger boys. He considered the items for sale. Hermione would appreciate a book, certainly, but it also seemed less creative than he was truly capable of.

He gazed at the items of jewelry. He’d always had an eye for luxury. There were some nice pieces here... but it was not proper for a wizard to buy jewelry for an unrelated witch unless they were engaged—

Oh. Well, then. Tom’s gaze fixed upon a necklace of silver and opals. That was very pretty... expensive, yes, but it was within his new price range, and in any case, Hermione had never received a gift for her birthday. It would do for all thirteen of them.

He purchased the necklace and had the store owner wrap it in brown paper, which the man did very deftly with a flick of his wand. Tom slipped the parcel inside his robes and stepped away.

"I really need to go back to Hogwarts and study."

Tom whipped around to see who was speaking. To his surprise, the voice belonged to Draco Malfoy, who was standing next to Adelaide Lestrange and looking very unhappy about it.

"We haven’t even been to the Three Broomsticks," Lestrange complained.

Tom slunk into the shadows, easing toward the door of the shop.

"You know the last place you should be seen is a pub," Malfoy grumbled.

"You are with me. And I saw the Mudblood coming out of it with Riddle."

"She isn’t accused of being a drunk," Malfoy snapped.

Lestrange raised her eyebrows at him, looking ready to curse him, but she huffed in indignation. "We shouldn’t speak of it here."

Tom slipped out of the store unseen and went back into the confectioner shop, feeling smug about the complete lack of domestic bliss that he had just witnessed.

"Oh, there you are!" Hermione exclaimed when she noticed him. "I was wondering where you were."

He took her hand. "I just stepped out for a moment."

Harry gave him a skeptical look, but did not dispute the statement. When they were finished with their sweets, Tom led the small group to the door and stepped out.

Directly in front of him, Draco Malfoy and Adelaide Lestrange were in the middle of a shouting row that they did not seem to mind the rest of the village witnessing. Indeed, several townsfolk had clustered in a knot nearby, watching in gleeful fascination.

"I have done nothing!" Lestrange shouted. "I cannot believe you credit the rumors spread by that—that foreigner I used to be betrothed to! He was not even here!"

Tom gaped in disbelief that she would speak of her former betrothed that way. Clearly, her devotion to him was gone.

"I never said you did anything! But you were seen stumbling out of the Hog’s Head, and everyone in Slytherin knows about what you keep in your bedchamber—"

Lestrange hissed. "Well, they certainly do now—as well as part of Hogsmeade!" She glared at the small group of villagers. "Enjoy this while you can, peasants, because my father can come here and wipe your memories!"

The group of villagers dispersed at once. Lestrange then noticed Tom and his companions. She snarled in rage. "Having fun, Riddle?"

Tom drew his wand. "I was having a wonderful outing with my betrothed... which is clearly more than you can say. Bad luck, Malfoy," he said briskly to Draco. "Then a couple of companions joined us for sweets. We were having a fine day until we stepped innocently out of the store, minding our own business, and saw this."

"It is entirely your own fault!" she raged. "And the fault of your Mudblood." She sneered at Hermione. "How hilarious, a Mudblood with a title and fine robes. You’re still as filthy as the dirt under my feet, no matter how they dress you up." Petty spite filled her words.

"It sounds as if you have had more drinks than you should already," Hermione said, her voice quiet and cold. She drew her own wand surreptitiously, the movement hidden by her large sleeves. "Is that so, Lestrange?"

"It is none of your concern!"

Draco Malfoy was edging closer to her, their violent disagreement apparently deferred in the face of enemies. Tom noticed and took Hermione’s elbow gently, pulling her slightly behind him in case one of them attacked. "You’re right, Lestrange—your problems should be none of our concern. I certainly did not want to hear you brawling with Malfoy in front of the town, bringing your personal troubles into the open like a vulgar peasant, and I am not going to get drawn into a fight that is not my own. Now get out of the way, both of you." He gripped his wand openly, making sure they could see.

"How dare you," Malfoy began.

Tom pointed the yew wand directly at Malfoy’s face. "How dare you, you mean." He sneered at Lestrange. "And how dare you force your personal business into the public square and then complain that people hear it! How dare you block other people from attending to their own business. Get out of the way, Malfoy." His fingers twitched around his wand.

Malfoy seemed to consider challenging Tom, and Lestrange definitely wanted to, but in the end he took her by the elbow and pulled her away, letting Tom’s group pass.

Later that evening, after a grand banquet in the Great Hall, Tom, Hermione, and Harry trudged down to the Slytherin common room. Harry stepped inside the threshold, briefly gazing at Hermione poignantly—slightly disappointed, but also happy in a melancholy way at the same time. Hermione was looking the other way and did not notice, but Tom did.

So I was right, he thought. Potter was interested in her, even if she wasn’t in him. I wonder if I was right to designate him to be her guard... her "knight," as he put it. Really, that should have been the clue. But at least he has accepted that she likes me, and he’s apparently happy that she has my regard. Even if he was almost a Gryffindor, and apparently descended from Gryffindors, he’s not foolish enough to antagonize me by trying to draw her away from me.

He and Hermione entered the common room after Harry. Tom considered giving her the gift he had bought for her, but it was not actually her birthday yet. It could wait till tomorrow.

The following day, Tom awakened with the rising sun. That was unusual. He generally slept in when left entirely to his own devices. It’s Hermione’s birthday, he recalled at once, before he even got out of his bed. It’s her birthday, and she’ll love what I bought her.

As he went through his morning routine, he wondered at what it meant that he was so excited about that fact. Of course, he did expect her to gush over the necklace, to compliment his taste and to shower gratitude on him... but it almost seemed like another part of him was looking forward to observing her own pleasure.

He would have to defer that enjoyment a bit longer, though. Since the Norman invasion, the masters required the pupils to go to the school chapel, where a fat friar presided. There were not any wizard priests, at least that Tom knew of—certainly no trained wizards—but this wizard was trained, and was known to have been a Hufflepuff. He wondered why this man had decided to enter a religious vocation after being trained in magic at the school. Well... there were certainly worse things than having a wizard voice in that particular institution, and although Tom found the Sunday devotional ghastly dull, this friar was at least a kindly fellow who spoke of mysticism and love and such things, rather than judgment and brimstone. It could be worse, indeed.

When they finally headed into the Great Hall for breakfast, Tom was quite ready to present the necklace to Hermione. He sat next to her, as usual, and enjoyed a very good and hearty meal that almost distracted him from the anticipation that was building inside him.

The young people typically remained at the table for a while, talking amongst themselves, especially when they did not have scheduled lessons. Tom listened politely to Hermione’s chatter about the outing of the previous day, and when she appeared to have said all that she had to say on that topic, he reached into his belt pouch and drew out the wrapped box.

"This is for you," he said solemnly, "for your thirteenth birthday."

Hermione’s eyes widened as she took the package. "Well, thank you," she said. She pulled at the paper, quickly revealing the painted wooden box that held the jewelry.

"There’s more inside."

She lifted the metal latch and opened the box top. Her brown eyes popped wide open, and her face flushed pink. "Oh my!" she exclaimed, picking up the necklace and holding it so that the opals glittered in the morning light.

Tom smirked proudly as several of their housemates gathered near or dropped their personal conversations to look. "Would you like to wear it now?" he asked. "It would go well with this robe." Hermione was dressed in light blue-green with grey trim.

She nodded, embarrassed by the attention and humbled by the grand gift. "Thank you so much. It’s beautiful."

Tom took the necklace from her and fastened it around her neck. She flinched—no, he realized, she shivered—as his fingertips lightly touched the back of her neck. He pushed that thought right out of his head. "There," he said, moving his hands away. "It looks just as I thought it would." It was the polite thing to say, but it was also true. She did look lovely... and he was proud of the looks that other people were giving her, proud that she was his and everyone knew that he was the giver of this gift....

She smiled at him. "This was so unexpected! What day were you born, Tom? I’ll have to remember it."

"December 31. I will be at my mother’s castle then."

She nodded. "Naturally. Perhaps, though, my family can visit yours. It would be appropriate."

"I’m sure something like that will happen." He gave her a smirk. "So, I take it that you like the necklace?"

She laughed happily.

For Tom and Hermione, the duel had been a turning point, and the visit to Hogsmeade had been another. From that point onward, their relationship was fundamentally different. The rest of the students—minus, perhaps, Harry—would not be able to notice the difference, since they did not make a point of displaying the vulnerability of personal emotion before others. It looked the same when they walked to and from meals, when they visited the little town again over the course of the fall season, when Tom bade Hermione good night. But when they did not have others’ eyes upon them, it was different.

For Tom, it was the curious feeling that came from having an actual friend. He had been socially isolated as a child living with his mother in London, instinctively avoiding most of the other children because they were not like him—they were non-magical, or they did not share his interests and therefore he could not talk to them. Throughout his first year at the school, he had not had a friend either; the Slytherins had scorned him because he was a commoner and a half-blood.

That was changing. There were now some Slytherins—not all, and not the ones who attached themselves to Lestrange or Malfoy, the Norman and Norman-toadying cohort—but some, who respected him as one of their peers because of his mother’s elevation. Still... they were not actually friends. At some point over the course of autumn, Tom realized with disquiet that if he had not had Hermione, he might think that this was what friendship was.

He refused just yet to consider that Potter could become a friend too. They got on, but Potter was still a rival for Hermione, as far as Tom was concerned. Even if she insisted that she held to her noble honor, and that she had no romantic interest in Potter, Tom was quite certain that Potter did have some for her. Tom was committed to his strategy of letting his own friendship with Hermione develop so that she would not have to rely strictly on "honor" to stay devoted to him, while also using Potter’s feelings for Hermione—even if they finally did subside into friendship—to keep Hermione... well, safer, if not wholly safe, when he himself could not stick with her. It was better to have another person around in this place, and Potter seemed to take his "job" as Hermione’s unofficial guard seriously.

Tom could tell that Hermione’s fancy for him continued unabated—perhaps even increased, since she was finally getting some real encouragement that he enjoyed her company. But her expression of it grew subtler. She became more comfortable expressing disagreement with him when they talked, rather than adopting his views as necessarily superior to her own, or becoming upset if they differed.

But at the same time, she was rapidly adapting to her new world. The school held a Hallowe’en feast, which was a holiday that Hermione had not observed before. When Tom explained the ancient origins of it, her eyebrows went up, but she did not hesitate to partake of the feast.

"I suppose it makes sense that a holiday about the proximity of the spirits of the dead would persist in a community where we can see ghosts," she had remarked that evening as a female ghost dressed in elegant robes passed by.