The Patronus of Tom Riddle

The way to Hogsmeade seemed to Tom the most wonderful walk in the world. A wall of trees, only just covered with young leaves, on one side of the road; the lake glittering in the sun on the other; and a charming companion by his side… His heart had not felt this good even when he first traveled to school. And that had been, perhaps, the most powerful impression of his entire life. Aola rejoiced so naturally at everything new, reacting so sweetly to a flower found by the roadside or a bird fluttering from beneath their feet, that Tom decided: getting to know the one you love is the most fascinating occupation in the world. And when the golden stars of daffodils began to flicker between the trees, gradually merging into continuous, delicately fragrant “carpets,” Aola’s delight knew no bounds. Tom rushed to “mow down” the succulent stems, and it is unknown what damage he would have caused the local ecology had she not stopped him. “One would have been quite enough,” the girl gently reproached, taking the flowers. “Thank you.” She sniffed the bouquet with pleasure, whispered something over it, and passed her palm across it. Tom had long noticed that for simple spells she did not use a wand. Perhaps the Eastern school helped one learn to concentrate innate magic without tools? He was about to ask about this, but she had just tucked a flower into her hair above her ear and turned to him: “Does it suit me, what do you think?” The honey-yellow daffodil set off the colour of her eyes, making them shine even brighter. “Very much… Rather, it is you who have decorated the flower, milady, than it you,” he said and became embarrassed again, looking down and rubbing the transparent, sticky sap from his fingers. “What an exquisite compliment, thank you… Only drop that 'milady, ' we are not in class,” she handed him a lace handkerchief. “It is not the one I gave to poor Cynthia, do not fear…” Tom snorted. She followed suit. After they finished laughing, she added: “I am serious, Tom. When I hear that 'Lady Meroving, ' I feel as if my grandmother is standing behind my back. Let us do this — outside of school and the ears of Headmaster Dippet, I am simply Aola to you. Agreed?” He nodded, realizing that he could hardly allow himself such liberties, for even to himself he added a polite 'Miss' to her name every other time. For now, the lad could not imagine what could possibly happen between them that would move these barriers erected by his upbringing. Well, he could imagine it, of course… but if Aola right now, following Walburga’s example, offered her wondrous full lips for a kiss, he would have died on the spot from heart failure. It seemed that being shy, turning pale and red, and behaving like a tin soldier in her company would be his lot until the end of time. Sighing, Tom put the handkerchief in his pocket. He couldn’t return it dirty, could he? Closer to the station, the road went uphill, winding through the hills, and Tom offered his companion his arm. She did not refuse. Needless to say, Mr. Riddle entered Hogsmeade like Alexander the Great entering conquered Phrygia. Glancing at the rows of neat, gabled houses, the girl remarked: “Well now… And where is the nearest source of fun and sensual pleasures? Something tells me we shall not be treated to a fresh theatrical production or even an exquisite tango here…” The village indeed looked as if time had frozen there some five centuries ago, and since then, perhaps only the stone fences had grown thicker with moss, but little else had changed. On the eve of the holiday, however, the streets were quite crowded, and if the students had not left for their homes, the local shops would have been impassable. Tom shrugged. A trip to Honeydukes was entertainment for small children, of course. But a shop of magical gadgets and artifacts… or rare books and treatises — that was quite another matter. He could have stayed to live there, between shelves of Egyptian papyri and thick works of medieval alchemists. “You are my guide, Tom… lead on, I rely on your taste.” They had not gone ten paces when Aola noticed the confectionery shop. “Oh, there is Honeydukes! Dates!” And Lady Meroving almost skipped in her haste to reach the glass doors of this sanctuary of lollipops, chocolates, and gingerbread. Tom could only conclude with surprise that the tastes of girls and children are sometimes remarkably similar. The bell above the door tinkled gently, and a cloying bouquet of cinnamon, vanilla, lemon zest, and Merlin knows what other confectionery ingredients immediately hit his nose. Suddenly Aola stopped and blocked Tom’s way, looking into his eyes: “Let us agree on one thing right away, Tom: I invited you — I pay for everything. Agreed?” “Miss Aola!” Everything masculine in the boy immediately rebelled; from indignation, he nearly lost his power of speech. She shouldn’t be paying for herself, let alone for him! “Tom, please… I have more than enough money. And you are a student; you will find a use for it for something more helpful.” Gauging his angrily flared nostrils, the girl took his hand: “Fine. From your first earnings, you shall take me to the theatre. Or the cinema. Or a museum. Deal?” Tom remained silent. “I am older than you, and… I am your teacher, after all!” If she had stamped her foot, he would not have been surprised. “Either you agree, or I turn around and go back to Hogwarts!” Lady Meroving added quietly and angrily, because the shopkeeper, Mrs. Flume, had already turned her attention and her super-politely smiling round face toward the visitors. Young Mr. Riddle could not withstand such crude blackmail and surrendered. “Fine…” he muttered and turned away to a display of jumping jelly worms. If Aola had left now, he would never have forgiven himself. And she would have left. She had quite a character… The worms, noticing Tom, became animated and jumped in unison, thumping against the glass with their resilient, multicoloured bodies. “Good day,” Mrs. Flume sang toward Aola, and there was no less sugar in her voice than on the counters. “Hello. We are interested in dates and Turkish delight. You have a lovely shop, I see. And a great selection!” “Oh, yes, Miss. We have dried dates, chocolate-covered ones, ones with almonds and walnuts, we have oat-flake sweets with a date filling…” And the shopkeeper, round as a doughnut, began to lay out all the date supplies she had. While Aola immersed herself in the world of Turkish delight known only to her, fastidiously selecting the best variety, Tom gloomily dreamed of how he would graduate from school, get rich, and shower her with diamonds from head to foot. Having stocked up on the coveted treats, Miss Meroving called the dreamer to assist her and bought some treacherous 'Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans' as well, mustard marmalades which, the advertisement claimed, caused 'smoke from the ears, ' and a couple more questionable sweets that looked more like a mockery. “Is it true, any flavour at all?” Aola doubted, standing in the middle of the street and turning the bag in her hands. “Absolutely. They say there are even vomit or earwax flavours.” “Ugh…” she wrinkled her nose and looked incredulously at Tom. “Are you teasing me?” “Try them yourself,” Tom smiled. “I have come across tomato and liver. And Miles swore he ate a sweet that tasted like dirty socks.” “I wonder how he is even familiar with such a taste?” she said thoughtfully, not daring to take a treacherous bean. “That is Miles, milady; I would not be surprised,” Tom smirked. “Let us leave this lottery for later… Have a date instead. Though it is dried, I think it will taste like a date and not like heaven knows what. No, wait! It is already nearly lunchtime, and you missed breakfast. Come, let us eat properly, and then we shall sit on the shore, throw stones into the water, and gorge on sweets. Agreed?” Tom did not notice how these words 'gorge' and 'heaven knows what' moved those very barriers by half an inch. Of all the taverns Hogsmeade offered, Aola liked 'The Sleepy Salmon' best, because in the middle of the room stood a huge tub with live fish, and there were many fish dishes on the menu. Linen curtains, heavy wooden tables, and daffodils in a vase on each one. There were few visitors, but every single one turned their head and began to look at the pair with curiosity. Tom lifted his chin by habit. This girl was with him, and he would not allow anyone to stare impudently at her or make comments in her direction. Aola moved the flowers in the vase a little to make room for her bouquet and went to the tub to admire the fish swimming lazily there. She left the right to order to the man. After some thought, Tom chose the local version of 'Cullen Skink' and a fish pie. And heather ale to go with it. “Mmm, delicious!” the girl was surprised, sending the first spoonful of thick creamy soup into her mouth. “You can be relied upon, Mr. Riddle.” “You shall be convinced of that more than once, milady,” Tom replied with dignity, while he himself beamed with pleasure like a polished copper cauldron. The ale, though not strong, was still doing its work — his body became light, and the conversation more relaxed. “I tried fish for the first time only in India. In Persia and Central Asia, they hardly eat it. But in India, they put curry in everything, in incredible quantities. Actually, it is difficult to taste the dish itself…” Aola did not have time to finish, because a 'herald' in the form of a parchment scroll flew into the tavern, unrolling with thunder and fanfares all the way to the floor, and a sharp voice cried out: “Easter Fair! Only this Sunday! Wonders and novelties from all over the world! A traveling menagerie and a big top circus! Only on Easter Sunday — a single performance! Do not miss it! Come yourselves and bring your little wizards!” The voice reached a climax, the scroll rolled up and went off with a bang, showering multicoloured confetti and a rather smelly smoke. “I am beginning to like it here,” Aola said and gave her companion a mischievous wink. *Cullen Skink — a traditional Scottish thick fish soup.