The Patronus of Tom Riddle

How could he have said “no” when those wondrous golden eyes were looking at him so expectantly, and a slender finger was extended in a gesture of peace? “Peace…” murmured the young man, embarrassed, bewildered, and no longer resentful at all, as he carefully took her pinky. “And so, are you satisfied with the result, milady?” “I do not know yet, Tom… I do not know yet,” she replied, looking at him so intently that his breathing became shallow, and only a great effort of will forced him to remain standing. Though he wanted to sink into the floor, or Apparate, or… at least transfigure into some stone and merge with the landscape. “It is good that the misunderstanding between us is resolved…” Aola suddenly frowned and added: “Only promise me something, Mr. Riddle. You must promise.” “Anything, milady?” he asked warily. Who knew what she might ask now? To stay far away from her, perhaps. Or to go crawling to the Headmaster with a confession? “Promise that you will no longer seek what you desire in such a manner. Weasley could have been seriously hurt! There are many other, safer ways for those around you to court a girl.” “He could not…” Tom grumbled, stung once again. “I calculated and checked everything… Fine, I promise,” he surrendered under the pressure of her reproachful gaze and the finger firmly squeezing his pinky, and immediately went on the offensive: “If only you will tell me about them, about these safer ways.” “It seems I shall have to,” Aola finally smiled warmly, covering his hand with her narrow palm. “I feel obliged now to set you on the true path. But do not think you shall escape punishment for your prank. I will think of something sufficiently tedious… later.” Tom agreed to this as well. Of course, he had already forgiven her for everything, in bulk and even in advance, and was ready for anything just to please her. Her explanation did not undo what had happened. But the motive! Such a motive flattered him… and proved that he was not, in fact, indifferent to her. If he had not been such a stubborn ass, he could have known this right away, two days ago! Aola was still holding his hand, and Tom relished the touch. The wind played with her curls, which shimmered like dark gold in the sun; the hem of her dress wrapped around her legs, emphasizing their shape. Tom watched in admiration. How quickly despair turns to joy at the birth of the smallest hope… He wanted to touch those glossy, large curls flowing freely over her shoulders. They must feel like silk to the touch… In class, she always gathered her hair into an intricate style that added to her severity. Now, on the shore of the mountain lake, she again resembled a nymph, free from the dull conventions of human society. Aola came to her senses and released his fingers. “I take it that until Monday you are entirely free?” she enquired, tilting her head slightly and observing him with some new expression he did not yet understand. “Absolutely,” Tom assured her. His racing heart ached sweetly — she wouldn’t have asked for no reason, would she? “Excellent! Will you keep me company? I wish to stroll to Hogsmeade. Since the day I arrived, I have gone nowhere further than the Quidditch pitch.” “Of course, with pleasure!” he agreed hastily. Perhaps too hastily? But what did it matter now? She seemed to have understood everything already… “I have permission to visit,” he added. “Does one need special permission for that?” Aola asked in surprise. “Schools in England have such strict rules… A lion’s share of our lessons took place in the courtyard, in the open air, under a huge old mulberry tree. We sat on the ground on mats, went barefoot, and in the breaks between classes, we sailed toy boats in the irrigation ditches, or ran to the abandoned cemetery to tease the old, toothless ghoul… or to the bazaar for fresh dates or figs. We showed the merchants little tricks, and they treated us. Have you ever tried fresh dates?” The boy shook his head. He had never tried even dried ones, it seemed. Lady Meroving’s gaze clouded with memories, and Tom suddenly saw clearly a small hand, decorated with henna patterns and thin bracelets, holding out a crimson rose to a stout man in a striped robe. The man takes it, and that very second it turns into a bird and flutters from his palm. He laughs and gives the little girl several fruits from his stall. Tom even felt the sweetness, as if he had bitten into a warm fruit heated by the sun. And that scent… and his head felt a little light… Had Aola let him into her memories?! From the unexpectedness of it, he lost concentration, and the vision vanished. A scent of seaweed wafted from the lake, dispelling the aromas of the oriental bazaar. “Did you live in Persia?” he asked, embarrassed by what he had seen and felt. Lady Meroving, who in his eyes was a true princess, it turned out, had once run barefoot and sailed toy boats in ditches… a small, curly-haired girl with patterned palms. He had never thought of it before. And now he suddenly felt a certain piercing tenderness, in addition to the mixture of delight, passion, and trepidation she inspired in him. She had even come to the ball barefoot… Tom involuntarily looked down — no, she was wearing shoes now. It was not yet warm enough to go without. “Yes… and not only there. My father and I were carried across the Middle East and Asia. We were in India, and Africa, and even Latin America… many places,” she replied and shook her hair as if brushing away images from the past. Her intricate earrings chimed softly. When had she managed so much, being so young? “Right then, Tom, task number one for us is to find dates in Hogsmeade! To live without trying dates is the same as living without love — gloom and despondency,” Aola declared, and Tom could only take her word for it. “And if we are lucky, we might even get some Turkish delight!” And Lady Meroving licked her lips like a cat that had scented fish. Tom could not help but smile. “Shall we report to the Headmaster that we are going to Hogsmeade, and then go?” “Fine, I will just leave my book,” Tom waved the thick volume on Occlumency. He no longer felt like studying textbooks. It was difficult not to skip every three steps on the way to the dormitory. He! Was going! For a walk! With Aola! She had invited him herself! All the suffering caused to his beloved had already turned to dust, to nothing — he adored her once more, and was ready to follow her to Hogsmeade or to the end of the earth. “Just do not think of changing! I like your jacket!” she called after him. Turning the corner, Tom did skip after all. “Whose jacket has impressed you so, milady?” Albus Dumbledore waited until the moving staircase reached the position he needed and began to descend toward Aola. “Mr. Riddle’s, I presume?” He was smiling, but in the depths of his pupils, something resembling anxiety flickered. It flickered and vanished. “Yes,” Aola replied with a smile. “I was just looking for someone to warn: Mr. Riddle has agreed to keep me company and walk to Hogsmeade. He has permission. Do not lose us; we shall certainly be back by dinner.” “Lady Meroving… would it not be better to refrain for now?..” Now the anxiety appeared in the wizard’s voice as well. “Oh, nonsense,” the girl replied irritably. “Just a village on the other side of the lake. I shall look into a couple of shops and return. I do not think any of them could be carried to such a remote place. Do not worry… If anything happens, I can stand up for myself and the boy. It will not hurt him to have a change of scenery, either. He sits within these walls without ever leaving… It is not bad here, I grant you, but a young mind needs fresh impressions. Do you not think so?” “It seems to me he is already impressed — by your beauty and charm, milady,” Dumbledore surrendered, changing the subject. “You think so?” she smiled. “Well, for his age, that is normal. It would be more worrying if it did not happen.” “Tom seems friendly and open, but… he did not have the best childhood. And he is very much his own man. It is the first time in five years I have seen him interested in something other than his studies.” “I remember, sir, what you told me of his kin… and still, I do not understand how such a fine lad can be unwanted by anyone? Not a single truly happy memory…” Aola shook her head. “It should not be so. It is not right.” Meanwhile, Tom, having burst into the bedroom like a whirlwind, tossed his book onto the table, reached into his chest of drawers, rummaged there, and emptied his wallet over his perfectly made bed. He counted his finances. Modest… But better than nothing. Perhaps it would be enough to treat his companion not only to Butterbeer but to elfin wine as well. His ideas of what one usually does on a date (and he had already imagined that this was one) were very approximate. But one thing Tom knew for certain — entertainment required money. Especially the entertainment of such a sophisticated girl as Miss Aola. Smoothing his hair with a brush and ensuring that his face and clothes were in perfect order, Tom hurried back. Ascending the stairs to the first floor, he heard voices — milady was talking to someone. Professor Dumbledore, it seemed. He slowed his pace, hesitating — should he approach or wait until the professor left? Of course, he could listen to what they were saying… perhaps about him? But Tom immediately checked himself — Aola would hardly like him eavesdropping. Covering the last steps in a couple of bounds, he slowed his pace. “Good day, Professor. Miss Meroving, I am ready.” “Good day, Tom,” the former smiled, looking intently, but he could hardly have read anything on the dispassionately polite face of young Riddle. He had such a mask saved for anyone who intended to pry into his soul. “I entrust milady to your care. Have fun, and a good day to you,” and Dumbledore bowed out.