The Patronus of Tom Riddle

Saturday morning brought Tom nothing but disappointment — Aola did not appear for breakfast. Had she not returned yet? What if she had flown home for the rest of the weekend? But she had promised they would spend Sunday together… Go to the fair… And to top it off, the weather had turned foul: the sky was overcast with heavy clouds promising a storm, and the Black Lake had become truly leaden-black and ominously still. When Aola did not appear by lunch, the world finally dimmed. November reigned in his young soul. Hogwarts turned into a dreary old castle. After pouring his suffering into his diary, kissing her handkerchief a hundred times, and, to crown all sorrows, encountering a bean with a disgusting flavour, Tom grew despondent. Had he been a girl, he might have had a good cry, so sad did he feel. Then for a second, he imagined that Aola had left forever. That he would never, ever see her again. At this horrific thought, his stomach turned cold, and his eyelashes grew treacherously wet after all. Even thinking about it was terrifying. How could he live then, without her looks, without her smile? Without those rare but so thrilling touches? No, no… Even just as a friend… what of it, even as an errand boy, if only to be near her! Over the lake, the storm finally broke, with thunder and lightning across the whole sky. It became as dark in the bedroom as in the evening; the wind hurled entire waterfalls against the windows. There is no telling what else Tom might have conjured in this gloomy solitude had someone not suddenly knocked on the glass. Quietly, but insistently. Surprised, he rose from the bed where it had been so convenient to suffer and hurried to the window. He didn’t even have an owl; there was no one to write to him anyway. Along with the spray, a winged letter was flung into the room by a gust of wind, soaked through and exhausted. Such letters do not fly long distances; someone from Hogwarts had sent it. The little note plopped onto the carpet, sneezed loudly, shook itself like a spaniel climbing out of a pond, and announced in a certain charming voice: “Mr. Riddle, please report to my office as soon as you receive this message. We had an agreement; I hope you have not forgotten. Professor Meroving.” Then it attempted to ignite, but turned out to be too wet for that. The attempt resulted in an awkward hiss and a cloud of steam with the scent of her perfume. Oh, no! Tom would not allow the first letter Aola had ever written him to be liquidated! It was a true treasure… despite its dry, business-like tone. Immobilizing the fluttering note with a spell, he picked it up by its thin wings, stroked it carefully like a butterfly, and placed it in his diary, enchanting the book against fire. Joy returned, the sun shone in his soul, and all anxieties vanished — Aola was at school! Tom gathered himself in mere seconds, as if in a Muggle army, and soon was knocking on her office door. An agreement… of course, he remembered. The tedious punishment for the assault on his rival. “Yes, yes, come in,” came from behind the door. In person, her voice was even more pleasant… deeper. Sweet goosebumps immediately ran down his spine, and his heart broke into its habitual gallop. How he had missed her… “Good day, Miss Aola.” “Tom, I am glad to see you! Did the note arrive after all? I was beginning to fear it had been washed away and was going to send another. It is pouring like a deluge out there. A literal Great Flood,” Aola stood at the very top of a ladder leaned against the shelves of teaching aids. “I want to put things in order here while I have some free time… Will you help?” “Of course, with pleasure!” She laughed and began to descend carefully, holding the hem of her skirt. Tom unabashedly admired her elegant ankles in pale stockings. The shy thought of how his beloved might look without clothes had long since formed into immodest fantasies, thanks to the 'Mistletoe Branch'. “With pleasure? And I had intended to drive you into despondency with this routine.” “Everything is a pleasure in your company…” Tom replied sincerely, hurrying to offer his hand to help her down so she wouldn’t step on a pile of dusty scrolls and boxes on the floor. “So, to punish you, I should deprive you of my company?” Aola enquired mischievously. “You have already been gone long enough, milady!” the boy blurted out, and although his heart was beating like mad, he held that lingering amber gaze. Yes, he had pined, and how, and this was a good way to say so within the bounds of propriety. “Did you really miss me?” she asked coquettishly, caring nothing for any bounds, and Tom nearly whispered the word “Very.” She looked into his eyes without looking away. For a second, it seemed to him that… And then she took her palm back from him and demanded with a gesture: “Your wand, Mr. Riddle.” “What?” he didn’t understand. “But why?” “You shall work like an ordinary Muggle — with your hands,” Aola beamed. Like a Muggle?! In five years, he had grown so accustomed to magic that the idea of sorting this junk by hand seemed insane to him. Though, on the other hand, it would take a vast amount of time… And that time he would spend with her. Shrugging, Tom handed Miss Meroving his wand. “Please check the boxes and sort them by course topics… It is written here what goes where,” she showed him a sheet of paper, then placed the wand on the desk and conjured… a huge, toothy trap. “My word of honour would have sufficed, milady,” Tom commented resentfully. “I do not doubt it,” Aola replied airily. “Just a little insurance. I shall leave you for a short while, Mr. Riddle.” She gave a spirited wink with her golden eye and left, leaving her admirer, who was rapidly filling with resentment and disappointment, alone with a mountain of aids. Now her scheme was beginning to look like a real punishment! What a woman! How could she?! “I bet she is smiling right now!” Tom grumbled at the closed door. Pouting, the descendant of the Gaunts kicked a pile of boxes with the toe of his boot. One of them squeaked indignantly. Who knew what lay in there? And he was disarmed! When her “short while” stretched into a good two hours, and the dust from the boxes set Tom’s teeth on edge, and the dried larva of a giant brain-sucking leech turned out to be not so dried after all, he firmly decided that he would go nowhere with Aola tomorrow. Let her amuse herself alone, or find another fool to mock! Tom Marvolo Riddle was not her toy, even if she were a duchess. In the heat of personal resentment, the boy somehow forgot that, actually, he had earned this punishment himself. By the time Lady Meroving returned, ideal order reigned on the shelves, and Mr. Riddle was as cold as ice. Aola was impressed by his labours. To his remark about the larva, which had to be quelled with a thick encyclopedia, she replied that she had not doubted his manliness for a second. Unlocking his wand, she praised him for his honesty and endurance. Tom did not buy the flattery, and after coolly enquiring whether milady required any further assistance, he trudged to the washroom. At dinner, he did not look in her direction at all and went to bed early — insulted in his best feelings and angry. Easter morning, as if to spite him, turned out wonderful. Not a trace remained of yesterday’s foul weather: every leaf and blade of grass had been washed and had begun to grow riotously. The sky shone — clear and cloudless, competing with the lake’s surface in blueness. The sun warmed gently. It was difficult to nurse a grudge in such a delightful setting. But Tom held on. Even when a winged note from Lady Meroving again knocked insistently on the window: “Christus resurrexit! * Good morning, Tom. I wanted to remind you that you promised to accompany me to today’s fair in Hogsmeade. May I count on you? Aola.” “Look at that… Now I am not even Mr. Riddle, and she is just Aola,” Tom grumbled, reaching out. A Catholic, too… The note sat trustingly on his palm and was immediately immobilized. The paper smelled delicately of strawberry. The temptation to reply with consent was so great… but the deceased shadow of resolve, following the example of Jesus, had also resurrected today and whispered nasty, vengeful, not-at-all-Easter-like thoughts to Tom. After thinking a little, he wrote: “Resurrexit vere! ** Good morning, Miss Meroving. With great regret, I am forced to inform you that I shall not be able to accompany you to Hogsmeade. I hope for your understanding and forgiveness. With deep respect to you, Tom Riddle.” Folding the note, Tom flicked his wand. The letter grew dragonfly wings and fluttered out the window. Of course, he did not intend to hang around an empty school all day. And he would go to the fair. Only separately from this heartless lover of playing with others' feelings. And he would have fun there, to the fullest! And she could walk alone. Or there… with the Archivist. Let him trot beside her and hold her… by the knee! He couldn’t reach any higher anyway. Not five minutes had passed before the next letter flew into the room and announced with a slight mockery: “On this day, even the dead rose and left their tomb. Will you really remain sulking like a barn owl in solitude in your bedroom? Come now, Tom. Do not be a child! A line has been drawn under the Weasley business. Shall we start with a clean page?” First 'be a child, ' then 'do not be a child'! Argh! One cannot understand these women! They can drive you mad! And although his soul groaned and demanded to answer — yes, yes, of course! — Tom produced a super-laconic, meaningful “Alas” and sent it to his beloved. “Well, have it your way then!” the reply letter huffed resentfully and exploded, showering the carpet with scraps of paper. After waiting a little, Tom nevertheless peeked onto the stairs like a spy and saw Aola, shamelessly beautiful and dressed up, in the company of a couple of orphans from the lower years, looking for self-hiding eggs in the foyer. And Sir Nicholas was actively helping them. The eggs, having grown yellow chicken legs, scurried into corners and giggled. It seemed they were all having fun. The frustrated Riddle returned to his bedroom and began to wait for them to clear out of the school. Having made sure everyone had left Hogwarts, Tom mounted his broom and, in some ten minutes, landed on the outskirts of the festively humming village. *Christ is risen! **He is risen indeed!