This chapter was betaed by my most wonderful beta rambkowalczyk. Writing with a beta really makes a difference!
Thanks to everyone who reviewed!
Chapter 13 : Don't Touch Me
“You left early,” Alphard Black said as he entered the sixth year Slytherin boys dormitory. It was the first evening in Hogwarts, and everyone else was still celebrating in the Great Hall. Only he and Tom Riddle were down in the dungeons.
“Phyllis Rookwood is throwing a fit because you left her with all those first years,” Black remarked with a laugh.
Phyllis Rookwood was the other Slytherin prefect and unlike Tom she was not neglecting her duty. Not that negligence was a normal thing for Tom, which was why she was angry and Alphard was worried.
Five four poster beds with impeccable white sheets and five heaps of luggage at their sides were waiting for their owners. As always, the house elves had been busy. On one of the beds sat a small cage with an ugly fat rat. On the wall opposite the beds hung a medieval tapestry. It was woven in shades of green and showed Salazar Slytherin riding a kind of giant snake and many small people and creatures around him. In one hand he held a human skull. Nobody was quite sure what the depicted scene actually meant, but it was quite decorative. From somewhere in the wall the sound of gurgling water could be heard running through pipes. It had been raining since last night.
Tom was sitting on his bed; one of his suitcases lay opened beside him. As Alphard entered the room, he saw Tom hastily struggle out of his white shirt and pick up his night-shirt. His movements looked all wrong and stiff. He had noticed before that Tom was like this every time he returned to Hogwarts.
Alphard had tried to gain his trust and be his friend for the last six years now and in some way he had succeeded: he knew Tom better than anyone else. On the other hand the friendship was a bit one-sided. He gave more than he received. It bordered on worshipping ...
They had met in their first year and Alphard had instantly felt drawn to Tom. The quiet loner promised mysteries and secrets to the curious boy Alphard was, and he was not disappointed. Getting behind Tom’s secrets was one of the hardest and most rewarding challenges he had ever known. But the more he learnt about Tom, the more he was drawn in. Curiosity changed into admiration and respect. And that was something very extraordinary for a member for the noble and ancient House of Black.
Alphard came closer, casually watching Tom. A protective glimmer was in his eyes, but not for the other boy to see. He knew Tom would never permit anyone to care for him. Tom would take admirers and followers, but not friends. Alphard knew how many admirers Tom had.
Girls loved his handsome looks and his adult ways, and the Slytherin boys never tired of Tom’s displays of skill in the Dark Arts. He was a prodigy, and a man with visions. Well, a boy with visions. But Alphard wanted more. He didn’t just want to be one of many admirers. He had set his mind on becoming Tom’s friend.
“These are some nasty scratches,” he commented while reaching out to touch Tom’s back. The other boy shot around and glared at him.
“Don’t touch me,” Tom hissed, lacking all of his usual grace and smoothness.
Alphard raised a brow, a distinguished-looking skill he had perfected during his third year. He was a fair Black, as Blacks generally came in two types: the fair Blacks with pale blonde hair and the dark Blacks with dark brown or jet-black hair but often blue eyes. Apart from Tom he was easily the most handsome and talented boy in Slytherin and he wasn’t used to people reacting that badly when touched them. But he knew when to retreat. Tom didn’t hesitate to put a curse on someone.
The impoliteness didn’t concern him too much, though. While he liked to insult others in a very polite way, he was used to his Slytherin companions being not so subtle. As far as Alphard was concerned, Tom could curse him all he wanted; what really bothered him was the fact that Tom never trusted him.
Not that he expected him to open up and be all kind and trusting in a silly Hufflepuff way, but couldn’t he at least stop to be notoriously mistrustful and paranoid? It is annoying if someone is constantly trying to intimidate you and looking for ways to blackmail you; when he all he would have to do to make you walk through fire for him is ask.
“Alright,” said Alphard.
He put a safe distance between them and sat down on his own bed, crossing his legs. Tom quickly put on his night-shirt, then he seemed to relax. The shirt was a shield, Alphard figured, one of the many layers of protection that Riddle needed between him and the world. He rarely ever wore short sleeves, and in winter he always wore gloves. He never took dives in the lake with the other boys and he showered at times when other people didn’t.
In the beginning this habit probably came from the scars and bruises. It was natural to Alphard that Tom would want to hide such ugly things, no Slytherin would ever admit such weaknesses. A Slytherin did not have such weaknesses.
And yet he didn’t turn away from Tom, that was the strange thing. The weaknesses he knew Tom had didn’t lower his opinion of the other boy. No, they added to the fascination, at least for Alphard. Alphard loved mysteries and ambiguous things; he never was happy with seeing just the surface. His favourite subject was divination.
“It’s good to be back,” Tom sneered as he put the shirt back into the suitcase, on top of a new-looking, black-bound book.
“I thought I was going mad with all those Muggles ...”.
“Really. It seems they like you just as much,” Alphard smiled. For a small moment, Tom’s haughty expression changed into something ugly and frantic. Then he came back to normal.
“That’s none of your business.”
Tom never missed an opportunity to show his contempt of muggles. Actually this was bit ordinary, the kind of thing that would-be purebloods did who had only been of pure blood for three generations or so.
But Alphard acknowledged that unlike those pitiable subjects, Tom had actual reason to hate muggles. His muggle father had defiled his mother and abandoned him and Tom had grown up in a horrible poor environment full of muggles. Alphard couldn’t even start to imagine such a thing or how Tom could bear it. If it was he living under such conditions, he’d have hexed them all the moment he’d learned to hold a wand, whatever laws and punishments there might be. But Tom couldn’t do that.
Alphard didn’t pity Tom because of the bad luck he’d had in life, or the fact that he was a half-blood. But he couldn’t help but feel pity for him when it came to not being able to defend himself.
Black shrugged.
“It’s not that bad,” he said indicating to Tom’s injuries. “Would you rather look like that second-year Gryffindor? The one with all the spots and those horrid glasses? I think they’d look right cute on you ...” He grinned lazily.
“Oh, fancy her?” Tom shot back with a bright flash in his eyes. That was how Alphard liked him.
“Not your type, is she? Who is it then? Which girl do you like best?” Black asked slyly. His voice was persuasive and smooth and he had perfected the skill of calming his friend over the years. All the taunting only served to distract Tom from the summer. By his face you could see that Riddle pondered the question quite scientifically.
“Miranda Whitethorn is pretty, but she’s a Gryffindor and also ... I don’t like those Quidditch fanatics. No class. I think Belinda Goshawk is a nice girl,” he finally answered.
But the way Tom said it made clear that he would never ask her out. He didn’t care a bit about the girl, the other boy knew, but when had Tom ever cared about anyone? Alphard cocked his head, sprawling on his four-poster bed.
“And you? Who’s your favourite?” Tom asked, though not really sounding interested. It was the kind of question that is asked to keep up the conversation.
Alphard looked at him. His eyes roamed over his secretive companion, then he looked away, at the ceiling. “Belinda is alright,” he said with a shrug.