The Patronus of Tom Riddle

Tom hurriedly pulled Aola by the hand. “Milady, we must hurry! What if they return?!” Then he stopped and slapped his forehead. “No, better to Apparate! Far from here, where they cannot find us! I am with you!” He seized her small palms with both hands. The girl was smiling. Her smile spread wider and wider; her whole being seemed radiant with joy and satisfaction. “A Patronus! Tom, you did it!” She embraced him tightly and planted a ringing kiss on his cheek. “Yes… that is excellent… but they might return!” The lad was not certain he could repeat the trick. He was trembling slightly from the excitement he had endured. He drew in a ragged breath, trying to calm himself. Aola shook her head. “They will not return.” “How do you know?!” “They were never there, Tom… Calm down, please,” she said, stroking his shoulder. “What do you mean, they were not there?” he asked, already beginning to suspect the truth. “Promise me only that you will not pout at me for an eternity…” Aola made a pleading face and pressed her hands together in a prayer-like gesture. Then she spread her palms apart just a few inches. “A tiny bit of glamour… For your own good.” Tom opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again, like a fish on the shore. The sheer indignation caused his vocal cords to spasm. “How could you… do you even know who you are after this?!” he exclaimed, finally managing to find his voice. “Your teacher and friend?” the girl suggested hopefully. “No… you… you…” Words and air failed him. “A Harpy?” she prompted sadly. “Exactly! A heartless Harpy! I was frightened for you… truly, do you understand?! I thought they would drag you off to Azkaban!” “That was necessary, Tom… for it to look real. Please, forgive me… if there were another way… but we had tried everything else. And this worked. You have a Patronus!” Aola cautiously stroked his shoulder again. But the turbulent Gaunt blood had already rushed to his head. “I wonder what else was a glamour?! The chase? Your tent? Your caresses? Or perhaps you are actually a hideous old hag?! Show me your true face already!” Riddle hissed, enraged. “That last part is truly hurtful, Tommy… Everything was real, except for the Dementors…” “I am not Tommy to you! Do you give pet names to all your experimental laboratory animals? At least Tommy the hamster did not fail here, what a relief! Here is your carrot!” he cried out scathingly. “Very well, pray forgive my familiarity, Mr. Riddle.” The girl’s face grew stern; she squared her shoulders and tilted her chin up. The Duchess was clearly not inclined to listen to a lecture. And Tom was no longer inclined to endure her experiments. “I am not speaking to you anymore! In fact… everything between us is over!” he blurted out, turned, and strode quickly toward Hogwarts. A cauldron of resentment and outrage seethed within him. He did not believe a word she said and felt like a complete fool, manipulated and handled at will. “So, is that how it is? You seduce a lady and then abandon her?” came a mocking voice at his back. “What a true gentleman you are!” Tom clenched his fists. He had had enough! Let her play-act as much as she liked—without him! “I shall complain to Papa! He will make you marry me!” “I would rather die than marry you!” Tom shouted back with utter sincerity, without turning around. Had he eyes in the back of his head, he would have seen how milady was biting her lips behind him all the way, struggling against laughter. They reached the school in fierce silence. At the doors, he had to stop and wait for her with a proud air—after all, she had the password for the main entrance. Already on the stairs, as each headed to their own wing of the castle, Aola prodded him once more: “I hope in a couple of days you will turn your wrath into mercy and direct your fervor into a more pleasant channel.” Tom flushed to the tips of his ears, his fingers gripping the stone banister. He did not answer. For once, he was at a loss for words. The angry, now well-rested and breakfasted, henceforth “free” man struggled until dawn. In familiar surroundings, everything that had happened began to seem not quite real. Perhaps it really had all been a glamour… He rose early, while the others were still asleep. He did not want to show off his bruises or invent a story for their appearance. Thanks to milady’s magical ointment, they had faded and shrunk, but they still looked rather provocative. His shoulder was quiet for now, but if it began to ache by evening, he would have to go to Mrs. Frost and lie… that he had fallen off a broom? In a way, it was almost the truth. When the others were just waking, Tom was already diligently sitting over a textbook. “Oh, hello. Did not see you yesterday,” Miles greeted him, yawning and scratching himself. “Where were you prowling after curfew?” “Stayed late in the library…” Tom grumbled, nodding toward the book. “Hello. How were the holidays?” “Ah… gloom at home, as usual. All of Mother’s relatives down to the twelfth generation turned up, including that foul Aunt Mebs. She kept trying to slobber on me and wailing about how much I have grown. The twins nicked her wand and nearly set the house on fire. Then I went out with the boys, we have this spot… girls too… and Carrie brought her friend—a Muggle. Can you imagine?” Tom nodded distractedly to his classmate’s chatter. If only you knew where I was yesterday and what I was doing, he thought. And with whom. At breakfast, Aola appeared alongside that lanky Hagrid. Both were positively beaming, constantly exchanging glances. “Off to their unicorn again!” Tom decided, and contrary to common sense and his own decision to break with milady, he took offense at this too. He was the one who had saved that nag, after all! In the front ranks! And he hadn’t even been offered a walk in the forest to feed it a crust of bread… out of simple politeness at the very least! Tom was considerably nervous, though no one asked him strange questions, nor was he summoned to the Headmaster’s office. The night encounter with the Dementors, even phantom ones, had spooked him. But Professor Dumbledore seemed to be looking in his direction rather oddly… Aola said she had settled everything herself… surely her father had helped… but had she let anyone else in on what had happened? Was it true that she saw through people? If Dumbledore were involved in the attack, she would be able to feel it, would she not? Or not? And what if there were false memories, for instance? Only questions, and how was he to ask her now? Tom was already cooling down and beginning to regret his words and hasty decision. Meanwhile, through the open windows of the Great Hall, owls began to tumble in like fluffy clumps of mail. An indignant cry rang out—a feather had drifted into someone’s tea. Milady’s white gyrfalcon arrived as well, giving a sharp, abrupt cry, and dropped a bundle of letters for her. Tom tried not to look her way to avoid succumbing to his feelings… She ignored him too. But then he could not help himself—he looked. Instantly, a sweet shiver washed over him from head to toe—there she sat, so beautiful, stern, and inaccessible… reading the addresses on the envelopes. And last night he had kissed her… He felt flushed from the memories, and Tom mechanically loosened his tie, as if he lacked air. To his surprise, one of the owls aimed a small envelope almost into his plate. It turned out to be a notice—a package had arrived at the Hogsmeade post office in the name of Tom M. Riddle. From whom, suddenly? No one had ever sent him anything… He wondered why it had not been delivered directly to the school. Too large? And then it dawned on him—it was the broom… Miss Meroving simply did not want to draw extra attention. When had she already found time to order it? And what was he to do? Resentment told him to proudly refuse, even though he had lost his broom through her grace. Fortunate or unfortunate, Tom had no classes of hers in his schedule this Monday. He could think almost calmly, savoring the memories and considering what to do next. And in the evening, after dinner, Horace Slughorn reminded them that they had not held a meeting in a long time. The professor was well-rested and eager to hear something new and interesting from his favorites. Tom did not much want to go, but he went out of habit. He sat listening to the others chatter about disturbances in the menagerie, or the strange evening storm over the lake, and imagined how the Potions Master’s face would stretch if Tom were suddenly to dump his own version of events. And then the tedious calm of their meeting ended—Miss Meroving drifted into the room, smiled sweetly, and apologized for being late. Slughorn himself had told him he had invited Aola even before the ball! How beautiful she was… The lad hastily stared at a painting on the wall. A stormy sea was splashing there, with a tiny ship struggling against it. Just like him now… No, that was altogether too impolite, and Mr. Riddle fixed his gaze upon a beaming Horace, who was pouring out sugary pleasantries. Pfft, better to look at Lestrange’s protruding ear! Anywhere, in short, but at her charming face. However, as at breakfast, Aola did not grace her ex-admirer with even a glance. Mr. Riddle no longer existed, it seemed. Tom did not even have time to be properly offended, because Slughorn immediately took the bull by the horns and asked milady if her father intended to visit. “Papa is very busy, you understand what times these are on the Continent,” milady replied graciously. “I miss him terribly. But next week, it seems, he will have a few free days. He has firmly promised to visit me—to see how I have settled in. He believes that Britain is doing me good.” “Oh, wonderful! Simply wonderful!” the epicurean exulted. “I hope I shall have the honor of being introduced? We could hold an unscheduled meeting, what do you think, boys?” The “Slugs” nodded in agreement. Papa?! Could she really not have been joking and complained to her father?! The ghost with the monocle breathed right down Tom’s neck. If before he had feared being expelled, now the threat of a forced marriage loomed in prospect. Who knew what whims of his only daughter Duke Meroving was willing to fulfill? To marry meant to marry. He would not run from responsibility… He had been with the girl… he had confessed his love… she had the right to expect more. And then the future Mrs. Riddle gave Professor Slughorn a phrase that nearly made Mr. Riddle fall off his chair: “If circumstances permit, my fiance will come along with my father. He is an extraordinary man; I hope you will find each other’s company fascinating and useful.” And she smiled… Sweetly. As if nothing had happened.