The Patronus of Tom Riddle

“Tommy… Look at me… please,” Aola asked. And though any request of hers held the highest priority, the hapless lover only pressed his face harder into her warm shoulder. He had never experienced such a monstrous defeat. A disgrace… what kind of man was he after this? It would have been better had he been killed back at the lake. Surely, this was a cursed legacy from his worthless Muggle father! Such things were likely passed down in the genes. It was a wonder he himself had been conceived at all, given such… haste. Tom would have been happy to die that very second, unable to imagine how to go on. How could he look into the eyes of his beloved? Moreover, his stomach felt wet and sticky… how could milady even bear such a mess? Somewhere on the edge of his consciousness, the image of his father with a monocle flickered, shaking his head disapprovingly. As if to say, “I knew it all along; I saw what a nonentity you were at first glance.” Tom let out a quiet whimper at the unbearable weight of existence. It was over. His life was finished. “To-o-om…” Aola stroked his back again. He gathered his courage, pulled away from the shoulder where he had likely pressed yet another bruise, and muttered, “Forgive me…” before sliding to the side. She rolled onto her side, catching his face in her small but surprisingly strong palms. She looked with dismay at the lakes of tears welling in his blue eyes. “Whatever is the matter, truly… such things happen. Especially the first time. You shall rest a while, and it will all come right. You are so young… you will learn restraint in time.” He finally dared to look into her eyes. There was nothing in them but tenderness and warmth. Not a trace of mockery or disappointment. He could not have endured that. “I love you…” he said almost inaudibly, not caring if the moment was suitable for such confessions. A sharp, aching, soul-tearing feeling forced the words out. He didn’t even expect an answer. He simply could not keep it inside any longer. Aola stroked his cheek and kissed his lips softly. He shivered with joy even at that. “You are a wonder, Tommy… Everything will be alright. You need to sleep. It has been a long day,” she said. “I shall bring a towel.” The girl went behind the screen. Tom suddenly realized he was entirely naked and pulled a corner of the rug over himself. “Turn away, please…” he asked when milady returned. She smiled sweetly, shrugged, and covered her eyes with one hand. He hurriedly wiped himself with a damp towel scented with rose water and covered himself again. Unlike him, Aola felt no embarrassment at her nakedness. She had no need of it. She lay beside him on her stomach, resting her head on her hands, watching him from beneath thick lashes without making any further attempt to embrace or caress him. “You are shy for naught. You are very handsome. And as you age, you will become even more attractive,” she said. Tom suddenly realized that, having calmed down and no longer gripped by blinding arousal, he could truly admire her beauty. His gaze lingered on her shoulder blades, but there were no marks, no scars, not even a hint of wings to be found there. “It is you who are beautiful as an angel… Who are you, my lady?” he asked softly. “Your wings—that was not mere magic, was it?” “Sleep, Tom. I must step out for a moment… Fear nothing; no one will disturb you here. I shall return soon and endeavor to satisfy your curiosity.” “Are we not returning to Hogwarts?” “Not yet. Do not worry about a thing. Not many at your age could have withstood a battle against such an opponent. You did not merely withstand it—you triumphed. And you saved me.” She reached out and gently ran her palm over his face, barely brushing his lashes and the tip of his nose, as if clearing away an invisible cobweb. Or perhaps casting one? Suddenly, Tom felt how dreadfully tired he truly was. His limbs felt heavy as lead, and his lashes grew sticky, as if coated in honey. Aola moved closer, tucked the covers around him, and held him. No one had ever lain beside him like this, waiting for him to fall asleep. It was incredibly cozy and pleasant, and despite the hundred questions swirling in his mind, Tom fell into a deep sleep before he even realized it. He woke only in the dead of night, stirred by a draft of fresh air. Aola had returned, and a cool night breeze had rushed through the parted flap, diluting the sweet scents of the dwelling. All the lamps except one—the furthest from his bed—had been extinguished. Its dim light barely traced the girl’s silhouette. She approached quietly, likely to check on him. Tom wanted to ask where milady had been, but at the last second, he held his tongue. He had been resting all this time, while she had been attending to matters and was surely exhausted. He feigned sleep. After standing beside him for a moment, the girl sighed deeply, undressed slowly, took one of the rugs, and lay on the divan. She clapped her hands—the lamp went out. Soon, she seemed to fall asleep. But for Tom, sleep would not return. He lay in the darkness, listening to her light breathing and replaying the events of the day. A kiss amidst the yellow sea of gorse… dancing to the skirl of bagpipes. The brief, fierce battle above the lake. He had killed a man, yet he felt not a shred of regret or pity. Nor fear. If anyone dared to lay a hand on Aola or threaten her… he would do it again without a moment’s hesitation. He remembered every kiss, every touch, every caress upon this bed… He wished she had lain beside him… No, not because he was desperate for redemption. Tom had no desire to disgrace himself yet again. Simply falling asleep beside her would have been a miracle. How pleasant it was when someone simply held you… the most beautiful feeling in the world. He lay thus with his thoughts until dawn. When the first grey light began to seep through the gaps of the tent flap, Tom felt the call of nature. He had no idea where the facilities were in such a place, so he decided to take a walk outside. He also wanted to see where they had Apparated. He rose quietly so as not to wake the sleeping girl and barely stifled a groan. While he had been lying down, his bruises hadn’t bothered him, but now his shoulder flared with such pain that he had to freeze to catch his breath. Managing to pull on his trousers and shirt, he tiptoed to the divan. He held his breath. The girl was sleeping on her stomach, a hand tucked under her head. Curls hid her face; her other arm hung relaxed off the edge of the narrow bed. The coverlet had slipped. By morning, the pavilion had grown quite cold, and Tom carefully pulled the rug higher, tucking his beloved in properly. He could have watched her sleep forever… Like an angel. Like a child. But the call of nature was merciless and insistent—he had to obey. Pushing back the flap, Tom stepped over the threshold. His bare feet sank into soft, thick grass. The pre-dawn chill seeped down the collar of his shirt, making him shiver. Everywhere the eye could see, a sea of grass billowed. To the north, not far from the tent, snow-capped mountain peaks propped up the sky in jagged, pale lines. It smelled of fresh greenery, tart and unfamiliar. The stars in the paling sky were melting away, yielding to a morning palette of lilac, pink, and grey-blue. The night insects had finished their songs, and the day ones were only just waking; the silence was exquisite. Only nearby, a stream tinkled, hidden in the brush. Stepping carefully through the cool grass, damp with falling dew, Tom moved away from the tent to relieve himself. Then, orienting himself by the sound, he found the stream. Clear as a tear, it hurried busily down toward the valley. Its bank was quite stony, and Tom regretted not wearing his shoes. Treading over sharp pebbles, he washed his face and, after a thought, drank the water—cold enough to make his teeth ache. Then he returned to the tent, sat by the entrance with his legs crossed, and watched the sun rise over the steppe. The golden disc rose slowly from behind the horizon, bringing warmth and light to the world. That was how Aola found him. He turned at her light footsteps and smiled, delighted: another sun had awakened. A more important one for him. “Good morning, Tom. Did you sleep well? How are you feeling?” she asked affectionately, touching his shoulder. “Good morning, milady. Excellent.” He hurried to rise, but the girl stopped him, reminding him they weren’t in the classroom. “Does your shoulder hurt?” “Only a little,” he lied. He didn’t want to seem a whiner. She asked him to lift his shirt, examined the bruises, and hummed with satisfaction. It seemed he was healing faster than she had expected. She went into the tent and returned with a pair of cushions and a jar of ointment. “The ground is cold…” She made him sit on a cushion. Any other teenager might have been annoyed by such fussing, but Tom was not spoiled by attention and obeyed with pleasure. While her fingers danced over his back and ribs, sending herds of shivers down his spine, he dared to ask the question that troubled him again: “You promised to tell me of yourself, milady…” “And I shall… since I promised. Provided you swear the most solemn oath that you will not breathe my secret to a single living soul. Ghosts count, as well.” “May I never cast another spell if I speak of it!” Tom promised fervently. His stomach tickled with anticipation—now, right now, he was to touch a true mystery! Aola giggled, and Tom realized he was being teased. He didn’t have time to be offended, for the girl finished her healing and sat beside him, crossing her slender ankles in her translucent trousers. “In truth, there is no great mystery, my friend—I am a half-blood. My mother is a Pairika.” “A Pairika?” He hadn’t heard the word before. “A Pairika or a Peri. An ancient race… a first draft by the Creator, if you like. A tribe consisting only of women. Beautiful and winged. They dwell in dimensions somewhat different from those of men. And they live so long that even among wizards, they are considered immortal. I was not jesting with you, Tom. I am truly quite old. I shall never grow old, or perhaps I shall age very slowly, being a half-blood. And I shall live a maddeningly long life.” She spoke the last words with such bitterness… Stunned, Tom asked: “What is so ill about that?” “And what is good about it? I shall see everyone I love depart, one by one. My father is already old. The woman who raised me has long been in her eternal sleep. She was a Muggle, and her century was as brief as the burning of a candle…” “And your mother?” Tom asked, then checked himself. Was he being too bold? “She returned to her people as soon as she bore me. That was the pact…” She fell silent for a moment. “Let us have breakfast, Tom. We must return soon. One can eat and talk at the same time.”