The Patronus of Tom Riddle

A beauty in translucent oriental trousers swayed her hips seductively and giggled, veiling her face with a sequined shawl. Her earrings, pendants, and bracelets chimed melodiously. A heavy scent of amber and musk drifted through the air. The girl shot another look from her massive black eyes toward the young man, and the hand clutching his wand fell limp at his side. With a moronic expression of deepest adoration, he took a step toward the temptress. Miles cursed. Tom winced. The poor wretch looked as if he were about to drool. "Zelemikus, bad - very bad! She will devour you with a grin and ask for seconds!" Aola exclaimed, flicking a repelling charm toward the beauty. The female half of the class giggled without restraint. The girl dropped her veil and bared a massive, toothy maw that stood in stark contrast to her lovely face. She growled gutturally, like a wild beast, shrank into a corner, and transformed into a large spotted hyena. A heavy stench, reminiscent of small travelling menageries, filled the classroom. The fifth-years had finished with the Ubyr in two weeks. Now, Lady Aola was introducing them to a new exotic undead - the Ghoul. "Men will be men," Professor Meroving remarked with a smirk as she sent the disgraced Zelemikus back to his seat. The girls nodded sagely in response. Indeed, in their tender years, they already understood everything there was to know about these insufferable males... Tom felt an unexpected twinge of offense. His heart hadn't skipped a beat at the sight of that girl, nor had his mouth watered. He had barely looked at her at all... his thoughts and feelings were hopelessly captured by another, far more fatal creature. The realisation that he had fallen in love came to Tom quickly. The sensations born in his soul and body - not only at the sight of Lady Aola but at the mere mention of her name - were so intoxicating, so euphoric, that he began to wonder if she had placed some enchantment upon him. He had even paid a secret visit to the hospital wing, spending a good half-hour sticking out his tongue, rolling his eyes, touching his nose, and performing squats in nothing but his underwear under the watchful gaze of Mrs. Abigail Frost. After inspecting him through her lorgnette from head to toe, pressing blue leaves to his forehead and knees, and making him drink half a glass of a bitter liquid that smelled of garden bugs, Mrs. Frost assured Tom that he was a perfectly, almost indecently healthy young dreamer, free from any charms or potions. She advised him to spend less time with his nose buried in dusty textbooks and more time breathing fresh air. And to eat more fruit. Perhaps, she suggested, it was a slight vitamin deficiency; it was early spring, after all. Alas, oranges and pumpkin juice were of no help in managing the emotions flooding him. In truth, in Lady Aola's presence, he could hardly swallow a morsel. How could one carelessly munch on a pie or pudding if she might be looking at you that very moment? What if you looked ungraceful while eating? Thus, the boyish roundness vanished from young Mr. Riddle's cheeks in a mere fortnight. However, this only added an aristocratic sharpness to his features. Beside a true Lady, there could only be a true Lord... Tom had eventually unearthed the Merovingian family tree in a dusty folio and had been very impressed. Though, even if Aola had come from a family of Muggles, it would have mattered little. What difference did it make who sired such perfection? He was ready for anything; he would become anyone, if only to win the tiniest corner of her heart. "Tom? Mr. Riddle!" Her gentle but insistent voice snapped him out of his fantasies. "Did you hear my question? Or shall I repeat it?" "I beg your pardon, I was lost in thought," he replied with dignity, though he felt a flush of embarrassment. His own distractibility irritated him, yet he could do nothing about it. "I asked what mistake Mr. Zelemikus made, in your opinion?" Aola repeated. She was exceptionally lovely today... it was no wonder he had temporarily lost his hearing while admiring her. SPRING? - the small letters flared and faded beneath his fingers as they idly twirled his quill. Tom's cheeks burned in response. Did she know?! Had he lost control over himself so completely, was he so transparent? Lady Aola had made no further attempts to touch his memory. That meant his behaviour was betraying him... while Miles, on the other hand, was convinced he couldn't stand the new teacher and that their dislike was mutual. "He missed the ideal window. He allowed the Ghoul to cast a glamour. After the aromatic attack, his capacity for resistance was reduced to zero," Tom answered. "Correct," Aola agreed easily, tapping her wand against her palm. "Time! In the case of such creatures that cast glamours, delay is rooted in death. Think, decide, and act quickly." She paced the room and added: "By the way, there is another variety of Ghoul, from Central Asia. They are not dangerous to the living. They are scavengers, found mainly on abandoned battlefields, in wells, in graveyards... they are kin to the European ghouls. A peculiar migration is being observed now... As you know, there is a war on the Continent. A cruel, terrible war... and so, the ghouls catch the scent of death and follow it..." Tom noticed with surprise how grim and saddened Lady Aola became when speaking of yet another conflict ignited by brainless Muggles. The bombings of 1940 hadn't touched Hogwarts, nor the pure-blood or half-blood London families who used defensive magic to protect their homes. But perhaps on the Continent, things were different? As far as Tom knew, wizards preferred not to interfere in Muggle conflicts, merely mitigating the consequences where they could. But, he had to admit, he was no expert in political matters. Such topics were simply not discussed with Hogwarts students. And Tom had no family with whom to discuss them. "Lolly Pratt's entire family died in a bombing... she's in third year," Cynthia sighed. "And we have neighbours, Jews, who fled Berlin just before the war. They told such terrifying things... Miss Aola, is it true that Muggles herd each other into massive prisons and burn them alive in ovens?" "It is true." The girls gasped. Tom felt an unpleasant chill run down his spine. Mass murder was uncharacteristic of the magical world. Here, duels were held in high esteem - one on one, between equals... "I shall be in trouble for discussing such things with you, should it become known... You are being shielded from what they consider 'excessive' information. But you must know what foul things are happening right at your doorstep. You are old enough now. We cannot separate our world from the Muggle world. We share the same earth. And now half of it is in flames, while your Ministry pretends nothing out of the ordinary is happening. A handful of Muggles came up with a theory of their own chosenness. Exclusivity. Pure-bloodedness," she enunciated the last word sharply. "This is a dangerous delusion, and one found in our world as well. But one of the Muggles has taken this theory to an absolute and now seeks to destroy everyone who does not fit into it." Lady Aola frowned and fell silent. Tom sighed quietly. He knew absolutely nothing about her. How and why had she ended up at Hogwarts? What story had brought her here? Where had she lived before? What did she fear, love, or hate? Why was she so troubled by endless Muggle wars? To him, their aggressive behaviour seemed natural. Muggles were prone to destroying anything that differed, even slightly, from what they were used to. He had felt that on his own skin during the first years of his unhappy life in the orphanage. "Well, let us leave that aside. And return to our 'beauty'. Who wants to try neutralising the Ghoul? Time. Do not forget about time." The 'beauty', whom no one had paid special attention to for several minutes, had shifted from a hyena into a hideous clawed creature with green skin, which was now trying to dig a burrow beneath the display cabinet. The lesson had ended long ago, but Tom was in no hurry to leave the room. Professor Meroving was sorting papers at her desk. "Do you have a question for me, Tom?" she asked, noticing his slow preparations. It is important not to miss the moment... she had said so herself. "I merely wished to ask if you were aware of the Flower Ball to be held before the Easter holidays. A rare singing gardenia has bloomed in Mrs. Frost's greenhouse. It blooms only once every fifty years or so," he enquired as casually as possible, stepping closer. "Yes, yes, I heard something of the sort," she smiled. "But no one has invited me yet." Yes! A leap of his heart - and her gaze... did he merely wish it, or was she truly looking at him with approval? "In that case... do me the honour, Miss Aola. May I invite you to the ball?" He looked expectantly at the girl, his fingers clasped nervously behind his back. Her refusal would sting his pride... but he would rather risk it and regret it than not risk it at all.