The Patronus of Tom Riddle

Slipping out of the menagerie entrance amidst a stream of indignant wizards, Tom hurried toward their rendezvous. He and Hagrid had taken fifteen minutes at most. The Disillusionment Charms were holding steady for now, but he harbored doubts about the doubles. It would be disastrous if they were to dissolve right before the eyes of some loitering onlookers. Settling onto a stone in a hollow thick with gorse, the lad waited for Aola. She would be pleased… everything had gone off without a hitch. People would assume some mischievous house-elves had somehow unlocked the cages—force majeure, as they say. Five minutes later, light, hurried footsteps reached his ears. Tom froze, holding his breath. He wondered: would Aola notice him if he didn’t make a sound? The girl descended into the hollow followed by the doubles. She commanded them to stand still and began pacing back and forth, fingers laced together in a tight lock, clearly agitated. Then, she stopped abruptly and… sniffed the air. “Tom!” she uttered with a tender reproach. “Cease these games of hide-and-seek; I can smell your cologne. Did you succeed? Where is Rubeus?” “Naturally, milady. The unicorn is free. Hagrid has ridden him into the forest to introduce him to his new home,” the revealed invisible boy replied, rising to his feet. She turned toward his voice. “Wonderful! Though I am somewhat anxious for Rubeus… It might have been better had he gone with you…” “There is no need, milady, he shall manage, you’ll see,” Riddle countered. It wasn’t that he particularly believed in the half-breed’s competence; he simply didn’t want Aola cluttering her pretty head with thoughts of that oaf. “You have done a great thing, Tom… Saving a unicorn from certain death is a deed of great merit. I am in your debt. I shall grant any wish you have—within reason, of course.” With a flick of her hand, she dissolved the doubles into thin air, having first ordered them to place the bundles they held upon the stone. Then she turned to Tom and, likewise without a wand, lifted her own charms. He ought to ask… but she had said those words… “Twice over, milady…” gathering all his courage, the boy replied, feeling a nervous shiver run through him. It was now, or never. “Twice?” she echoed, surprised. “You promised me a dance.” “Ah, yes, quite right,” she smiled softly. “I can be rather tiresome, can’t I? Ask then, Tom… whatever you wish.” “I believe you know what I want… Miss Aola…” he nearly whispered, struggling with his faltering breath. “And what might that be, Mr. Riddle?” she drew out coquettishly, understanding perfectly well. She couldn’t fail to understand… yet she forced him to say it aloud. Tom lowered his gaze, summoned his resolve, and exhaled as he looked into that playful, honey-colored depth: “A kiss…” He stood there, chilled to the bone, silently pleading with every god, demon, and departed ancestor that she would not laugh. But Aola did not laugh. Nor did she show indignation. She simply asked: “Have you thought this through?” Tom nodded hastily. More than thoroughly. Not once, but many times. He had envisioned this act in every vivid detail his imagination allowed. Merlin’s beard, he must be looking at her now with the eyes of a stray pup… Tom swallowed hard. His mouth was dry; his fingers trembled. The girl did not allow his self-deprecating thoughts to linger. Stepping closer, she touched his face with gentle palms, lightly squeezing his temples. The scent of her perfume… the flawless skin over high cheekbones… the searching gaze of her almond eyes… those rose-colored lips… everything was so close it was almost painful to behold. Close his eyes? Impossible. A hot wave washed over him from head to toe from that single touch; his heart fluttered, accelerating to an impossible pace. A million thoughts raced through his mind—what if she disliked the taste of his lips? Or the scent? Thank goodness he hadn’t thought to eat anything dreadful like haggis for breakfast! He didn’t even know how to kiss! Idiot! He should have practiced, even on Walburga! And then those pouty lips touched his… and the foolish thoughts were blasted from his mind with the force of an explosion. They were so soft and yet firm, so silken, so tender… and they smelled like the sweetest flower in existence. The contact lasted only seconds, but in that time Tom managed to gasp with delight, die, and be reborn as the happiest young wizard in the world. It seemed to him that time had stopped, that space itself had buckled and vanished, leaving only that tender touch and the frantic pulse in his veins. He closed his eyes. And then the miracle ended… No. No, no, please! He wanted more, if only for a second! Tom didn’t realize how it happened, but his hands slipped onto her waist, pulling the girl closer. Renewing the kiss, catching now her beautifully shaped upper lip, now the plush lower one, knowing nothing of what he was doing, he instinctively parted his mouth, awkwardly brushing the silken skin with the tip of his tongue. And she… she responded. When her sharp little tongue slid forward to meet his, caressing him, an electric charge pierced his body. An incredible sensation… beyond words. Magical. Her fingers moved to his neck, his nape. Goosebumps prickled his skin. And then her tongue ventured deeper, teasing his own, his teeth… Tom gasped. His head spun. It was so sweet… He held the girl so tightly that he could feel the curve of her breasts, lifted by her corset. He had admired her décolletage so many times, framed by lace… and now the treasure was so near. This sensation robbed the young soul of his last remaining wits. Aola was the first to pull away. Gently, but firmly, making it clear the debt was paid in full. Tom was shaking like a leaf. His knees felt weak. His lips burned. His cheeks, too, it seemed. Blood hammered at his temples like a machine gun. He was burning with fever and shivering with cold at the same time. The miracle was over, and the teenager looked down, not knowing what to do with his trembling hands. His adoration had reached a zenith… He loved her so sharply that it didn’t just ache behind his ribs—it seared him like fire. Had she commanded it, Tom would have crawled after her on his knees, on his belly, doing anything she asked, if only to experience such a thing once more. “Milady…” he said hoarsely, hardly recognizing his own voice. He wanted to tell her… while the courage still lingered, that he loved her more than life itself. “Shhh… say nothing… not now,” Aola replied, pressing a finger to his lips, and he captured her graceful hand, showering it with fervent kisses. He was drunk on her beauty, her tenderness… his mind argued that he had already received more than he had dreamed of, yet his body refused to understand. His body craved more. Reclaiming her hand with some effort, the girl picked up the bundles and commanded: “Come, let us celebrate the unicorn’s liberation. I believe Rubeus called him 'Snowball'. How about a glass of good old wine?” Tom murmured something in response—yes, of course… Wine, cinema, even a journey around the world! Perhaps milady wished to release the entire menagerie? A kiss for every head—and Tom Marvolo Riddle was at her service… “By the way, this is for you…” Lady Meroving remarked casually, handing him one of the bundles, which was quite heavy. “What is it?” he asked, surprised. “Books. And… various trifles. You looked at them with such longing on Friday… And do not dare refuse! I had to occupy myself with the doubles somehow, didn’t I? What was I to do with them otherwise?” Tom yielded immediately, naively attributing milady’s slight nervousness to a fear of rejection or tedious arguments. He didn’t want to upset her. In truth, the kiss had stirred more than just him, but Tom was too young and inexperienced to realize it. No vacant tables were to be found at The Sleepy Salmon or The Three Broomsticks, so the pair headed to The Hog’s Head. The establishment lacked interior elegance, not to mention a good reputation, but nightingales were singing in Tom’s soul and paradise was in bloom. The first kiss of his life was playing on repeat in his head, and the woman who had gifted him that miracle was before his eyes, so he cared for nothing else. The clientele was fitting for such a dive—happy families with rosy-cheeked children did not frequent this place. Instead, there were men with hoods pulled low over their eyes, card players, and other shady characters aplenty. However, Tom, who was already quite proficient in combat magic for his years, was not bothered by such company today. If he needed to protect his companion, he would use even the Killing Curse. Aola appreciated the tusked boar’s head adorning the wall opposite the bar, ran a finger over the rather grimy table they occupied, huffed, and ordered wine. In the grim interior of the tavern, the girl seemed like a vibrant, exotic flower. The proprietor gave milady a strange look but assured them he would bring the finest wine he had. Rumor had it the sullen owner of The Hog’s Head was a relative of Professor Dumbledore, though few cared. After all, every family has its eccentricities and skeletons in the closet. Tom refused food outright. What did he care for cutlets and puddings? Kisses—that was what occupied his mind from now until forever! He devoured his companion with his eyes, heedless of what others might think, drowning in the fantasies she had sparked. At the next table, a suspicious group was drinking firewhisky, noisily discussing the incident at the menagerie and slapping cards onto a table just as filthy as their own. Their theories regarding the cause of the emergency were so ridiculous that Tom and Aola, stealing glances at each other, snickered into their hands. When the glasses were brought, milady inspected them fastidiously against the light filtering through the none-too-clean windows and wiped them thoroughly with a handkerchief. Tom uncorked the dusty bottle. “Vintage 1894,” the ancient label informed them. Good heavens! Tom hadn’t even been a thought then, nor had his parents for that matter, and wine of such age must have cost a small fortune. Pouring the ruby liquid into the glasses, Tom handed one to milady. “To Snowball and freedom?” she proposed with a playful smile. The glasses clinked as they touched. Tom sipped the wine—it tasted wonderful! It smelled of wild strawberries and sunshine, with a hint of tartness. Only the kisses of his beloved were sweeter. “Mmm, what a delight!” Lady Meroving marveled, turning the bottle so the label faced her. “Eighteen ninety-four… I remember that year; it was an interesting one… in its own way…” she mused thoughtfully. “You mean, you remember it?” the boy asked nonchalantly, assuming she was referring to some historical date. And then milady leaned across the table toward him, giggled like a mischievous schoolgirl, and asked: “And how old do you think I am, Tommy?”