Death in the mask

      Tom knocked confidently on the solid door with no lock. Amanda, as the girl had introduced herself, shuffled next to him, looking at him hopefully. The bronze eagle-shaped door knocker opened its small beak:       “How many months of the year have twenty-eight days?”       “I answered him one, February, and he said it was wrong…” the girl whimpered. Tom sighed and carefully patted her shoulder. Physical contact is supposedly comforting. Amanda suddenly clung to his side, causing him to awkwardly flail his arms in surprise and then freeze. He didn’t sign up for this. So much for doing good deeds.       “Okay, let’s think logically. How many days are there in January?” he addressed the back of her head, after some deliberation carefully placing his hand on her shoulders.       “Thirty-one,” the girl answered, muffled somewhere into his robes.       “So January has twenty-eight days?”       “Yeah…” Amanda uncertainly confirmed, looking up at him.       “And March?”       “Also thirty-one. That’s also more than twenty-eight, so yes, all of them!” Realisation gradually lit up in her eyes along with excitement. “The answer is all of them!”       “Correct,” the eagle guard agreed, and the door slowly opened. Amanda gasped in disbelief, blinking rapidly and staring at the open passageway.       “Oh, Merlin! Thank you, thank you-” she almost squealed, but Tom shushed her and put a finger to her lips, hinting that yelling in the middle of the night wasn’t a good idea. She added more quietly: “I don’t know what I’d do without you!”       “You solved the riddle yourself, I only helped a little. Don’t give up right away if you don’t know the answer, start thinking about it,” Tom forced a smile, inadvertently pushing the girl trying to hug him again away. “Go to sleep, it’s late already.”       Amanda, looking back over her shoulder, stepped through the doorway. She managed to whisper “thank you” one more time before Tom closed the door behind her, cutting off the blue tones of the spacious common room. The smile slowly slipped from his face. He rubbed his cheeks with his palms to distract himself a little and headed down the spiral staircase.       Tom didn’t want to go to the Slytherin common room and run into Malfoy again, as well as the other drunk idiots. He needed to take a walk, get his thoughts in order, and make a plan. Tom walked down the corridors, not paying much attention to where he was going, while the adrenaline that had calmed down surged again in his blood along with the caffeine. He would need to catch that arrogant jerk alone and have a heart-to-heart chat, maybe adjust his memory a bit. But Malfoy was always either with Crabbe and Goyle or, for the classes the brutes couldn’t get into because of their O.W.L. grades, with Nott and Zabini. It would be best to choose a moment when Malfoy was with the two dimwits — Tom could easily and quietly incapacitate them. And he also needed some deserted part of the castle…       Suddenly, he heard someone’s footsteps up ahead. Tom froze, then quickly touched his wand to the back of his head, nonverbally casting a disillusionment charm on himself and fading into the air. Why did so many people think they had the right to wander the castle in the middle of the night? He listened closely — in addition to footsteps, he could also hear voices.       “She’s completely insane!..” said a boy’s voice. Ron Weasley appeared from around the corridor bend, walking quickly and angrily. A curly-haired blonde Gryffindor girl was clinging to his arm. Tom stepped back against the wall, trying to blend in completely. The couple was approaching.       “Look what her blasted birds did to my face!” Ron complained loudly, not at all concerned that someone might overhear. He stopped by a dimly smoking torch in the wall and pointed at his cheek. Tom, standing literally a couple steps away, could indeed see red scratches. The girl leaned back a bit, examining them.       “Oh, my poor Bon-Bon!” she dramatically moaned. “But even with all these marks, you’re still my handsome guy! The most handsome, and like this you even look manly, like you fought a tiger, my hero! It’s so exciting…”       “Rrrr!” the redhead playfully growled, and the couple locked in a passionate kiss. Tom barely suppressed a gag reflex. He didn’t even know what was more disgusting — the sloppy kissing with loud smacking a metre away from him, or the revolting cooing. Mutilated corpses didn’t repulse him, but this was beyond what he could take. He had already taken a step to the side, intending to quietly leave the way he had come, when Weasley detached himself from the girl.       “Come on, Lav-Lav, let’s find an empty classroom, we shouldn’t be standing in the middle of the corridor…” he said with a silly grin, pulling his girlfriend by the hand farther down the corridor, back the way Tom had come from.       Tom pressed himself against the wall even more, and the Gryffindor couple walked past without noticing him by some miracle. However, after a few metres they glued themselves to each other again, stopping right in the middle of the passage. Tom peeled himself off the wall and quietly sidled down the corridor, in the direction they had come from. Weasley and the girl paid him no mind whatsoever. After a couple of turns, there should be a staircase, he would go down it and return to the dungeons. He’d had enough of these nightly walks and sudden adventures, enough.       He was already approaching the staircase when he again heard inappropriate late night after-curfew noises. This time, they were coming from a slightly open door of an abandoned classroom. Tom listened closely — it sounded like sobbing. Someone was bawling their eyes out again. He froze in place.       Oh no. Anything but this again. That’s enough for today. Whatever it was, he had no intention of getting involved. Enough, he had already played the hero. Messed up his relationship with Malfoy, with who knew what consequences he had yet to deal with. What kind of day was this anyway? This was none of his business whatsoever, and he wouldn’t go into that classroom. No way. It was absolutely not his problem. With a heavy sigh, he pushed the door and sidled into the room.       Sitting on a desk in the middle of the room, Hermione Granger, even more dishevelled than usual, jerked her head up and stared at the creaking door right through him. Tear tracks glistened on her cheeks in the moonlight coming in through the window. She was nervously hugging herself, clinging to her shirt with trembling fingers. Making sure she was still alone in the room, she apparently decided the door had creaked from a draft, lowered her head again, and her shoulders, frozen for a moment, shook again with sobs.       Tom stood still, taking in the scene before him. Every sensible thought instantly evaporated from his mind as his gaze slid over her fragile figure, defenceless and biting her dark lips as her thin fingers shook. In childhood, he had often made other orphanage kids cry, including girls, and it had even been pleasant, feeling his superiority. Women’s tears had never bothered him, he didn’t understand why other boys felt uncomfortable and guilty next to a crying woman, even if it wasn’t their fault.       But now, the sight of this girl so vulnerably wiping away her tears with the back of her hand stirred some kind of response in his soul. For a second, he imagined she was crying because of him, and something hot and excited stirred in his chest. He didn’t even notice he had almost stopped breathing, admiring her. This pleasant feeling of power over another person, growing into a sense of his own limitless potential. He nervously licked his lips.       Hermione suddenly jerked her head up again and stared straight at him with frightened eyes.       “Riddle? What are you doing here?!”       Tom lowered his gaze to his hands that had become visible again, realising in surprise that the Disillusionment Charm had fallen. He had gotten carried away, lost in his thoughts and sensations, and had completely lost control of himself.       “Granger?” his own voice sounded too hoarse. He probably shouldn’t just stand there like a pillar so she didn’t get any wrong ideas. Or worse, notice his reaction. What do people usually say in such situations? His brain absolutely refused to think. They probably give comfort and offer help. He should try to portray that. “What happened to you?” he finally continued.       “None of your business!” she cried angrily. “Where did you even come from?!”       “I was just walking by,” Tom uncertainly jabbed his thumb over his shoulder at the half-open door. “I heard your sobs, came to see if you needed help.”       “I don’t, get lost!” she shouted, and her suddenly furious eyes seemed to try to burn a hole through him.       “Did someone hurt you?” he had to play his role to the end. He would pretend to be a bit of a fool for a minute, trying to comfort the weeping lady, then quickly bolt when she started throwing things or curses at him. What would an average mediocre guy like Potter offer in this situation? He stepped closer, his eyes involuntarily catching on her shiny wet cheeks again. “Just say the word, I’ll take care of it.”       ‘If you’re going to cry, better for it to be because of me,’ his subconscious purred, baring its claws. Tom told it to shut up.       The girl stared at him in shock and lost the power of speech for a second.       “Why? What business is it of yours?”       Tom said the habitual out loud:       “If someone violated school rules, that’s my business. Did someone behave inappropriately with you?” he added, quickly thinking about why a girl would be sobbing in the middle of the night in an empty classroom rather than her dorm. Her gaze became even more bewildered. “I mean, insulted you? Got handsy?” he clarified.       “No,” she suddenly calmed down a bit and even blushed, lowering her eyes. Did she like the suggestion that someone might have gotten handsy with her? She nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, Tom followed the gesture.       “Then what happened?” he asked just as softly, taking another step. He was now almost flush against her, almost indecently close. “Tell me, I’ll help.”       Tom didn’t even know himself why he had stayed and why he was trying to draw her into conversation. A thought flickered in the back of his mind that it would be good to improve relations with Potter’s girlfriend. That would be useful for his purposes. The thought disappeared immediately when his eyes focused on her red swollen lips. They must be salty now. His mouth went dry.       “I… I…” she uncertainly wiped away the tears that had almost dried during their conversation, looking somewhere around Tom’s chest that was right in front of her face. She hesitated for a few seconds, eyes darting around. Finally making up her mind, she spoke quickly and disjointedly: “Damn it, I’m such a fool, just an idiot! I thought we had something, or would. Especially after that stupid Quidditch match. Everything was going so well, even though he got upset over something unclear, but I thought we’d make up now. And then I see he’s already sucking face with that blond bimbo, right in front of everyone in the common room. He chose her over me, I don’t matter to him at all-a-a,” she did lose control of herself and burst into tears, covering her mouth with her hand. Tom, trying to make at least some sense of this stream of consciousness, peered at her face. The sobs were distracting, confusing him. He should try to stop this somehow. And feign concern, people liked that.       “'Sucking face with the blond bimbo'? You mean Weasley and that curly-haired girl…”       “With Lavender, yes,” Hermione forced out. “Did you see them too?”       Tom nodded:       “It almost made me vomit.” Granger gave an uncertain little laugh through her tears, and he continued: “So you’re the one who scratched up his face? Nice work. And you’re pining over that moron?” He shook his head. “Be glad he’s not slobbering on you. Seems like he can’t kiss at all.”       Hermione’s lips silently formed a small, precise letter “o”, and her eyes rounded. Tom was already thinking he must have said something wrong — he had no idea at all how to conduct such conversations or what ordinary people usually said to comfort a sobbing girl, so he was acting on a whim. However, Hermione covered her mouth again and suddenly giggled. Taking it as a good sign, he went on:       “You’ve found quite someone to suffer over. He’s not worth you at all. Maybe he just has a decent figure, but he’s stupid, lazy, ill-mannered…” he trailed off when Granger’s face contorted with impending sobs again. What had he said wrong now? Now he was completely lost.       “And even someone like that doesn’t want me… No one wants me-e-e,” she wailed.       “Hey, come on now…” Tom muttered nonsensically, catching her convulsively shuddering shoulders with his palms.       Hermione suddenly leaned forward and buried her face in his robe, while her little fingers dug into the fabric somewhere near his ribs. The heat of her body burned through even her striped Muggle sweater. She felt so small and fragile in his hands, her bones so delicate that it seemed he could easily break them. He cautiously moved his hand to her head, away from the temptation to run his fingers along her protruding vertebrae, but that proved a mistake.       Her hair smelled floral. The tickling touch of the fluffy curls teased the sensitive spot in the centre of his palm, tempting him to plunge his hand deeper, thread his fingers through the strands, yank the hair back to make her raise those tear-filled eyes to him. Touch his tongue to the skin and taste the salt. In his hands, so defenceless. Her wand stuck out so enticingly from the back of those stupid jeans, he needed only to reach out, she wouldn’t even realise what was happening. He could do anything to her, anything he wanted, then erase her memory. No, he mustn’t. Not at Hogwarts, not right under Dumbledore’s nose.       Tom removed his hands from the girl and leaned them on the desk she was sitting on. He urgently needed to distract himself from these unexpected inappropriate desires. What the hell was happening to him? Thoughts in his head flowed sluggishly, gradually slowing down. If only she would stop teasing him with her sobs… He gathered the remnants of his strength and rocked back, pulling away.       “Wait a minute. You need to calm down,” he said in an unusually low voice in response to her confused look. Although the phrase was more addressed to himself. He moved a little to the side, glad his robe was buttoned up. Focusing with tremendous force of will, he took out his wand and directed it at the two chairs standing nearby. After a couple seconds a soft, for some reason dark burgundy couch appeared in their place. Tom glared irritably at the crooked sprawling armrests and tried to straighten them with a second wave of his wand, but they only looked even more miserable. Hissing an inarticulate curse through his teeth, he turned to Granger, hoping she hadn’t noticed his unbalanced state.       “Sit.”       “Such advanced Transfiguration,” she concluded, examining the failed piece of furniture. “To make one object out of two, and such a large one.”       She slid off the desk and obediently moved to the couch. Her tears immediately stopped when she began stroking the dark velvet upholstery with her palm, assessing the transformation.       “Nukki!” Tom called softly, finally remembering the name of the young house elf. He had already decided the other must be long asleep when after a few seconds there was a loud pop. The elf who had appeared out of nowhere began spinning in place, trying to figure out who had called him. His gaze stopped on Tom, and his ears happily twitched.       “Oh, the young master called Nukki?!” he exclaimed. It was noticeable this didn’t happen often, if ever. Granger examined the house elf in surprise.       “Just Tom,” he corrected. “Can you make some tea with calming herbs? Valerian, lemon balm, motherwort?”       “There are herbs in the kitchen, Professor Dumbledore likes calming tea before bed!” Nukki answered enthusiastically, clearly extremely happy to have gotten an adult task. “Nukki knows, Nukki will do everything, sir!”       “Teapot, two cups,” he managed to give the order before the elf, knocking over a chair last, vanished again. Tom decided he should also drink a cup of calming tea, urgently. Granger just stared wide-eyed during the scene.       “You’ve already met the house elves?” she asked, surprised. “I’d never have thought…       “Why not?” Tom raised an eyebrow, sitting down next to her on the couch.       “Well, you talk to him so politely. You seemed so… arrogant before,” she answered uncertainly. “But you actually seem normal…”       “Is that so?” Tom smirked. “Just ‘normal’? After what just happened?” he teased.       The girl was completely embarrassed. But at least she wasn’t sobbing anymore. If only she knew how far from the truth her assessment of his moral qualities was, but such delusions only played into his hands.       “Yes, sorry about that,” she made a vague gesture in the air.       “For smearing snot all over my robes?” he smirked. “It’s fine, I’m not too fussy. As long as it doesn’t involve sloppy kisses in front of my face,” he admitted with some hesitation, even he himself was slightly surprised by this fact.       Further awkward remarks were saved by the noisy appearance of Nukki, who could barely carry the heavy porcelain teapot and cups in his little hands. Tom summoned another chair and arranged the house-elf’s gifts on it, and sent a couple of glowing Lumos balls up to the ceiling so they wouldn’t have to drink tea in the dark. At the same time, he pondered just how much wizards trusted house-elves when it came to serving them. One could easily substitute Dumbledore’s herbs for something poisonous, and no one would ever find the murderer. After dismissing the house-elf, he poured the tea into the cups and shoved one at Granger. They lapsed into silence, which didn’t bother Tom at all. He contemplated what to do next.       “Do you like it without sugar?” Hermione asked, looking up from her drink. “I mean, the tea?” she nodded at the cup in his hands, for some reason lingering with her gaze on the thin fingers clasping it.       “Yes, I like bitter things,” he admitted, swirling the cup in his palms.       “Well, that’s rare,” she said seriously. “Historically, bitter taste has been associated with unpleasant sensations, with the danger of some plant products for health. Most toxic substances in plants are bitter, it’s an evolutionary mechanism.”       “For thousands of years, plants have been developing these substances as a defence, and now humans take pleasure in eating them,” Tom nodded. “But the reverse is also true — the human system for taste detection formed due to the same evolutionary reasons — receptors responding to sweet tastes, for example, are needed to recognize glucose, which has nutritional value necessary for survival. People also love the combination of sugar with fat, like in pastries, and find it tasty because those are easily digestible nutrients. With bitter foods it’s the opposite — those taste receptors are needed to signal danger. Although a person will love bitter foods if they become associated in their brain with pleasure for some other psychological reasons.”       “Yes, I guess so. I never even thought about it,” Hermione said slowly. “Where do you know things like this from?”       “There are these things called books, Granger,” Tom said with a straight face. The girl was silent for a couple seconds, then suddenly burst out laughing. Tom noted with relief that her tears had completely stopped. Now he was feeling much calmer too.       “I mean, few wizards are interested in how the world works. I can’t imagine who I could discuss such topics with here at Hogwarts. And who would even understand what I’m talking about and not just say 'oh how interesting, let’s talk about Quidditch instead',” she grimaced.       “I don’t understand the point of that game,” Tom shrugged. “It seems like it should be called 'a hundred ways to kill yourself while riding a broom'.”       “Me neither,” she agreed. Then added fearfully, “Just don’t tell Harry, he’ll be upset that I think that!”       “I won’t. It will be our little secret.”       Hermione nodded, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear again. Tom smiled at his thoughts and leaned back against the sofa, absentmindedly stroking the upholstery behind the girl and looking at her profile. How many people naively entrust their secrets to the wrong person. Oh well, you lose some, you find some. Perhaps something good did come out of this chaotic evening after all.