The Patronus of Tom Riddle

After Mr. Riddle’s successful debut, the others grew bold and wanted to try their hand as well, but the genie had learned his lesson and flatly refused to come out of the pitcher again. With that, the field lessons had to end. Tom was glad — he had already proven himself, he expected no miracles from the others, and besides, milady was tempting him with the promise of a celebration. To an unspoiled teenager, an ordinary picnic in her company or a sit-down in a Hogsmeade tavern already seemed far from a routine affair. Tom knew nothing of what holidays in a home setting were like — he had only ever been to dreary charity evenings for orphans or school balls. The pinnacle of his dreams was to be alone with Aola in her pavilion once more. More than a month had passed since their explanation in the Forbidden Forest. It turned out that when one is happy, time flies completely unnoticed. Milady had suddenly stopped teasing and tormenting him, as if Tom had finally passed all the tests and proven his right to be taken seriously. She might still prod him lightly in public, but in private, she was infinitely tender and affectionate. Sweet notes wishing him a good day, a good night, or an invitation for a walk had become almost a tradition. If any of his classmates guessed who they were from, they kept quiet, knowing the recipient’s character all too well. Miles generally thought Walburga was scribbling to him, and there were plenty of other girls who were not indifferent to the handsome fifth-year. On weekends, they took long walks, and sometimes in a secluded spot, Tom managed to steal a kiss, or even more than one… but milady allowed no more. And he wanted more, very much so. The teenager selflessly raided the surrounding woods and the ill-fated school greenhouse, the latter even at the risk of his life. Once in the dark, he accidentally dropped a pot with a ripe mandrake and nearly lost his hearing and his life. Fortunately, he managed to cast a Muffliato charm on himself in time, and the cursed shriek turned into a muffled, unpleasant, but non-dangerous sound. Mrs. Frost cursed the thieves, inventing ever new ways to defend her pets, while Tom agreed with her and even gave advice, hiding nettle burns or geranium bites. He felt not the slightest pang of conscience — Miss Meroving’s room should always have fresh flowers. Aola guessed the origin of the exotic bouquets, of course, but did not reproach him for theft, considering it not a crime, but a small knightly feat. He did not shy away from all sorts of worthless tricks, as they had seemed to him before, such as a flock of canaries. Multi-stage transfiguration, in which an object sequentially turned into something else before becoming itself, proved to be a real gift of fate. A delayed-action charm also came in very handy. He would hand her some treatise on Middle Eastern magic or Indian practices — bewitched, of course. And so the treatise remained just a treatise until Aola was alone in her office and took it in her hands. And then — boom! — the spell triggered, and the paper turned into all sorts of kindnesses like a flower, a pulsating heart, and an aerial inscription “I Love You,” before becoming itself again. A trifle, but she would smile and think of him once more. To any sane person, these actions would likely seem foolish. But Tom was further from sanity than ever, head over heels in love in every cell of his body and every fiber of his soul. Through this prism, the entire world now looked somewhat different. He did not yet possess other means to please his woman, but he used all available ones with pleasure and imagination. It was probably not worth counting on the promised celebration today; after Miss Meroving’s lesson, the schedule still included Potions and exam preparations. But the weekend loomed ahead as a pleasant prospect, and while mixing ingredients in his cauldron under Slughorn’s admiring gaze, Tom anticipated some exciting activity in the company of his beloved. The long-awaited note fluttered into the bedroom and landed on his pillow when everyone had already gone to bed. Tom had even managed to get upset, thinking that milady had forgotten him. He had written a few tender words to her immediately after dinner and had been waiting for an answer. The note turned out to be ultra-short: “In fifteen minutes at the Blue Stone.” And the password for the entrance. Oh! What was she up to? The drowsiness that had been creeping in vanished instantly. Tom dressed quietly and slipped out of the Slytherin dormitory. To avoid being caught by the caretaker or any of the teachers, he sent “Hobby-ears” ahead of him down the corridor — a small bluish ball, almost imperceptible, rolling along the floor and working as an audio transmitter. Listening to its twin in his palm, Tom reached the hall without incident and would have slipped away entirely unnoticed, but as luck would have it, Sir Nicholas drifted out. He opened his ghostly mouth and prepared to inquire why Tom was out after curfew. But the boy made a pleading face and put a finger to his lips. “Amorous affairs, sir, you understand…” he explained in a hissing whisper and pretended to be ashamed. The ghost shook his nearly severed head and, with a meaningful wink — as if to say, I understand perfectly, no worries — vanished into the opposite wall of the hall. Tom exhaled in relief. He did not even have to lie! The man must have been quite the rogue himself… that nearly-headless sir. Ten minutes later, the lad was already standing at the agreed spot. The water sleepily licked the coastal stones. Cicadas chirped in the grass. Warmth came from the boulder heated during the day. Summer was not far off… exams, and then the holidays… and the hated orphanage! How he did not want to part with Aola and return to that wretched Muggle refuge! But she too would leave Hogwarts for the summer… He was prevented from finishing the sad thought by a familiar sound — the flapping of huge wings. A gust of wind with his favorite scent brushed him; a graceful figure hovered a few centimeters above the ground, not landing, and reached out her hands to him. “Apparition is not possible here, hold me,” she commanded without preamble. Tom gladly wrapped his arms around the girl’s waist, burying his nose in the curls scattered over her shoulders. She gripped him tightly and flapped her wings, gaining altitude. A breathtaking sensation of free flight flooded Tom. Last time, he had been too busy fighting to manage to get any pleasure from it. “It is like a dance…” he said into her ear. “I would like to know how to do this.” “You think so?” Aola responded, tilting her head back slightly to look into his eyes. “Levitation is not that difficult; it can be learned.” And she made a sharp turn, so that they nearly touched the black water spread out below. Tom’s heart skipped a beat and began to pound twice as fast. Aola laughed, very pleased with herself. A few minutes later, they landed by the stream, at the very spot where Tom had killed the dark wizard. The thrilling memory accelerated his pulse even more. “Where are we headed, milady?” he asked, releasing her from the embrace with regret. “To London?” “Oh, no, my boy,” she stroked his cheek affectionately, “much, much further. To a place full of snakes that will not refuse to speak with you. We will have to go in several stages; it is very far from here. Will you help me? I do not have enough strength on my own.” “Of course!” Tom was terribly excited — a real adventure was brewing! She was being coy, of course… she had enough strength for two like Tom and then some. But Aola was not just trusting him to Apparate — she was asking for help. What man would refuse to help the woman he loves? “Hold the image…” she said, opening her memory. And Tom saw an unremarkable road leading to the seashore. Large waves broke against steep cliffs, churning up thick foam, and further, as far as the eye could see, there was only water, all the way to the horizon. “Where is this?” he asked, carefully memorizing every detail. “Ireland. Have you memorized it?” “Of course.” “Ready?” “Yes,” Tom nodded and looked calmly into his beloved’s eyes. “Do not worry, Aola, I can handle it.” She must not doubt him. On their Sunday walks, away from the school, Lady Meroving had been teaching him Apparition, even though this subject was only taught in the sixth year, and the pleasure was not cheap. He caught on instantly and already had decent experience in moving, though only over short distances for now. This activity was far from safe; one could “splinch” and arrive at the destination in a not quite complete set. But with Tom’s mind, memory, and concentration, there was no such threat. Their fingers touched. Riddle called up the image he had just seen and stepped into the tightly coiling spatial vortex. Dizzying seconds — fractions of seconds — and a strong sea wind, smelling of iodine, hit him in the face. Tom opened his eyes. They were standing on that very shore, only it was dark, and the sea crashed against the steep rocks with a roar. “You are a star, Tommy!” Aola hugged him and kissed him hard. “Simply brilliant!” “Like with the genie?” the flattered teenager asked. “Even better! Hold the next postcard…” “Will you not tell me where we are going?” he asked, accepting the new image. “Never. It is a surprise!” The next transition point turned out to be… the upper deck of a transatlantic steamer. It was still light — they were clearly moving west. “Let’s pray it does not get torpedoed before we leave…” Aola murmured, sending Tom the next point. “Torpedoed?! But it is just a passenger steamer, not a warship,” the lad was surprised, having just been about to ask if they could walk around the vessel a bit before moving on. “The fascists do not care…” the girl sighed. Tom immediately lost the desire to walk. New York. Charleston. New Orleans. The Yucatan Peninsula. Cities, sounds, smells, impressions collapsed upon the orphan like a waterfall. America! This was cool! In every city, he asked with excitement — is this it?! Are we there yet? But milady led him further. The final destination truly amazed Tom: they Apparated right to the base of a pyramid! The structure, built from enormous stone blocks, stood on top of a greenery-covered hill, its flat top reaching into the bright blue sky. Many steps led to its summit, crowned by a temple. Dense jungle pressed against the ancient walls, thickly entwining them. Part of the pyramid had been cleared of plants; the surrounding area bore traces of excavation. It was very hot, stifling, and humid, though the sun was already sliding toward the horizon. Tom’s back immediately became wet under his shirt. From the base of the monument, a stocky figure of a snake-like creature stared at them with dead eyes. A head carved from stone, decorated with patterns and an open hood of bird feathers, grinned at the uninvited guests in either an eternal smirk or rage. Tom touched it with his hand. The stone was warm, smooth… and very, very ancient. “Who is this, milady?” the teenager asked. “This is Kukulkan — the Feathered Serpent,” the girl replied. “Who knows, perhaps he too will have something to tell you?”