Vad har ni i ert "ctrl + v" just nu?
Forum > Quidditchplanen > Vad har ni i ert "ctrl + v" just nu?
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18 jun, 2012 22:22 |
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AlvaRawenclaw
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FML SO HARD!!!!!!!!!!!! VARFÖR VAR MINA FÖRÄLDRAR TVUGNA ATT TA SVERIGE I FRÅN MIG???? FAAAAN
speech! 18 jun, 2012 23:36 |
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Othelia
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bajen
18 jun, 2012 23:59 |
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ailiiin
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@JoeyRichter You know you're amazing, right? Yeah? Good!
För twitter ^^ 19 jun, 2012 00:03 |
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Spoiler: Tryck här för att visa!Outside the line of west windows, the stars still shone brightly, the inky nighttime blackness only beginning to mix with the clear bright glow that signaled the dawn of another crisp, wintry morning. Anyone in their right mind should have still been asleep for at least another hour or two. After all, it was Christmas morning. Obviously, then, Hermione must have been quite mad, as she was currently sprawled with her feet up across her favorite tan leather sofa in the Head common room, staring pensively into the dying embers of last night's fire. The smoking heat still radiated the few feet from the fireplace to where she sat, and she smiled contentedly, closing her eyes and snuggling up against the soft, comfortingly warm, poufy pillow that seemed to mold with her head. She, Harry, Ron, Lavender, Ginny, and Draco hadn't planned to meet up in the Room of Requirements for a gift exchange until 9:30. All of her Christmas assignments had been completed, labeled, and filed away until school started up again. So she really hadn't the slightest idea why she was up so early. She heard Tom's door open at the top of his flight of stairs, and she lazed on, not quite ready to vacate the luxurious couch. She counted to fifteen, giving him plenty of time to get down, and then, eyes still closed sleepily, she cheerfully called, "Good morning!" The unmistakable sound of footsteps on hardwood floor immediately stopped. "Morning." The stale voice that greeted her was gravelly and low, giving the impression that he was still half asleep but was already in a foul mood. Oh, no, you are not going to be like this on Christmas. Hermione poked her tousled bed head up over the back of the sofa. "And a Happy Christmas to you, too—Are you alright?" She asked abruptly as she finally got a view of the Heir of Slytherin… and he looked awful. Not that he could ever really look awful in the worst sense of the word but he appeared utterly drained. His gray eyes had lost their defiant storminess; now they were simply exhausted and bleary, with deep, dark circles underneath them that were made even more obvious against his ashen face; his thick hair was shockingly messy and unkempt, and his robes were crumpled, almost as if he had collapsed in bed the night before still wearing them. "If you consider feeling like you've been hit by a train alright, then yes, I rather am, thanks for asking," he muttered, tiredly shuffling over to her couch. Hermione pulled her pajama-clad legs up to her chest to make enough room for him, and he sank down next to her, promptly burrowing the back of his head into the smooth, soft leather and closing his eyes. Hermione faced Tom, folded her legs Indian-style and momentarily surveyed him. "Well?" As the sun finally edged its way over the horizon, Tom reluctantly opened one eye and squinted at her, getting hit right in the face with the first rays of morning light. "Well what?" A small, secretive smile played at Hermione's lips, her eyes crinkling mischievously. "Don't you want your Christmas present?" she asked innocently, but her foot was bouncing up and down in the same eager anticipation she had whenever she gave somebody a gift and wanted them to open it, gosh dang it! "My what?" Tom asked uncomprehendingly. He reopened both eyes and pulled himself straight up, regarding her as if she had unexpectedly turned into a mutated, completely new species of blast-ended skrewt—an anomaly that, in theory, should have never been possible. "Your Christmas present," Hermione repeated with a smile. She reached for a small, silver gift bag that had been sitting inconspicuously on the floor at the foot of the sofa, and she handed it to him. "Here. Happy Christmas." Tom took the pint-sized bag without really looking at it, frowned, and warily searched her eyes, a small, almost suspicious expression on his face. "But I haven't given you anything," he said eventually, and Hermione didn't miss the large amount of confusion in his tone that he was trying —and failing— to hide. "I know." Hermione shrugged indifferently, her slipper-clad foot still jiggling unintentionally. Whether Tom gave her a Christmas present or not mattered little to her; all she knew was that time was running out for the both of them, and she had wanted him to have at least one really meaningful thing in his life while he was still… Her smile faded slightly, and she stopped herself before she mentally spoke the thought, but her stream of consciousness finished it anyway. While he was still alive. No. No, I'm not doing this. It was Christmas, a day which Hermione was planning to make a complete vacation from her reality. Tom could take a turn for the worse tomorrow and be gone the next day, for all she knew, but she was not going to think about it today. Not today. The smile brightened again, she nodded at the bag. "Open it." With one last wary glance in her direction, Tom tilted his head downward, a wave of dark hair spilling across his forehead, and slowly pulled from the bag a smooth, cloudy sphere that couldn't have been much bigger than the palm of his hand. The strange little ball was perched on a little velvet stand. His face perplexed, Tom set the bag on the couch next to him and looked at her questioningly. "What is it?" he asked quietly. Another energized grin broke out across her face. "When I got my invitation to school, my parents were afraid I'd get homesick. It being my first year away from them and the like—or it could have been them being separated from me, now that I think about it…" It sounded right… Hermione had always felt a bit guilty over how they had always seemed to miss her more than she did them. She shrugged. "Anyway, it's called an Orb of Eternity—have you heard of those?" The Slytherin narrowed his eyes contemplatively, glanced back down at the sphere again, and shook his head. "Oh—I suppose they're rather rare," she mused to herself, and it was true: She yet to meet anyone else who owned an Orb of Eternity. She couldn't even remember from which shop her parents bought it, exactly. "I mean, my mum and dad nearly fainted when they saw the bill on it—" And they nearly had. The eleven-year-old Hermione had found it highly amusing. She didn't mention how she was certain her parents must have run around Diagon Alley in a state of dazed awe at their first exposure to the wizarding world as they tried to find her a proper going-away gift…. The only reason they had finally decided upon it in the first place, they had told her, was because they thought it looked like a crystal ball, and from muggle movies, they had assumed that witches and wizards and crystal balls naturally went together. "—but basically what happens is you hold it in your hand, and the clouds swirl around for a bit to heighten the suspense, and then it shows an image of someone," Hermione continued. "Whether that someone currently dead or alive, it doesn't matter, the only requirement is that he or she lo—cares or cared about the Holder. " He didn't look especially enlightened—and had he understood the magnitude of the Orb, what it meant to her, even he would have had a bit more expression on his face. Um, how to explain… Oh. Hermione reached for the ball and glanced up him. "Do you mind?" Tom shook his head and noncommittally gestured for her to take it. "Thanks." Hermione plucked the petite, perfect sphere off the fancy stand and carefully balanced it in her palm, easily sliding into her teaching element, as Tom seemed to be listening attentively to her lecture on the intricacies of the Orb of Eternity. "So, when I hold it, sometimes I'll see my friends… and sometimes, I'll see my parents." She paused before her voice could crack as an image of her mum and dad, laughing and waving at her, materialized though the haze and clouds inside the Orb, and a small, fond smile spread across her face. Hey Mum, Dad. "It's different for each Holder, though. I mean, when you look into it, you're obviously not going to see my parents." Almost reverently, Hermione turned the ball over in her hand and hastily handed it back to him. "And the feelings that the person in the Sphere felt—or feel—for the Holder—they travel through the hand and right into the soul… So whenever I felt discouraged, or alone, all I had to do was pick up that little ball, and I'd feel my parents' love—" Abruptly, she broke off; like a catalyst, something about the last words had suddenly triggered in her a wave of emotions that she thought she had buried long ago. Burning, scathing tears sprung to the edges of her eyes, ominously threatening to spill over and fall. No… no… I will not cry… I will not cry… Faintly, Hermione finished, "And I'd feel their love for me as if they had been sitting right next to me the entire time." I will not cry… Oh, dammit, why does this always happen when I'm in front of people? she thought despairingly, desperately clenching her jaw to keep her chin from trembling. Throughout her entire explanation, Tom's face had remained fairly blank, but his eyes had gone through a wide spectrum of emotions, beginning with complete surprise, then moving on to curiosity, a bit of longing, and now… Hermione couldn't name the exact emotion in his swirling gray pools, but it was there, lots of it. Limply holding out the sphere in his outstretched hand, the same raw emotion in his voice that was shining in his eyes, the Heir of Slytherin whispered, "Nefertari, I can't take this away from you." "Yes, you can." Sniffing only once, she determinedly gave the tears a final shove away, and she gently closed Tom's cold, long fingers around the Orb of Eternity. "I don't need it to remember how much they cared about me. I want you to keep it. I'll be forever insulted if you don't, actually." Tom smirked halfheartedly. "Well, I can't very well have that." He uncomfortably shifted his weight on the sofa and opened his mouth like he was beginning to say something, then abruptly shut it again and stared vacantly into the dying embers of the fire, their light overpowered by the orange, gold, and white rays of sunlight now positively streaming into the common room. Hermione could help herself. "What?" she asked curiously. He glanced over at her briefly but soon returned his gaze to the fire and sighed. He hesitated, then asked carelessly, quite apathetically, as if throwing the question out like it meant nothing to him, "Nefertari, what if the Holder doesn't see anyone?" Oh, but it did mean something to him, Hermione realized with a start. He was afraid that no one cared enough for their image to appear in the Orb. Is he blind? her mind screamed, wanting to reach out, grab his shoulders, and throttle him. Instead, she simply smiled knowingly. "You will." Saturday, December 25, 1944 8:11 P.M. "Sean doesn't ask for money, he just takes it," Jacobson Andrews was saying irritatedly. "The little creep is actually becoming a problem now. He memorized my Gringotts account number backwards in a mirror, and now he dips in whenever he feels the urge, goes to the Quiddich pro shop, and splurges like the bloody little crook that he is." "Can't you get a new account number?" Hermione asked, her elbow on the table and her chin in her palm, watching the Gryffindor interestedly. And she wasn't the only one locked on Jacobson's dinner table regaling—Ginny, Ron, Minerva, and Phyllis (and anyone else within ear range) were also listening to his sob story in rapt attention. "I've tried that already. Twice. Hell if I know how he figured those out." Hermione laughed with the others and surreptitiously glanced at Tom. His mouth was actually quirked up in what could be called a miniature smile-smirk, and, although he appeared to not be paying attention, Hermione could tell from the way his head was tipped just barely in Jacobson's direction that he was. Suddenly, the Heir of Slytherin's gray eyes slid to the left, toward her. Hermione didn't hide the fact that she had been looking at him, but, rather, steadily returned his gaze, tilting her head questioningly. Discreetly, he raised his eyebrows at her and nodded up at the gigantic grandfather clock on the far wall of the Great Hall. 8:15. And, with a jolt, Hermione remembered the note. "Tom, what did it say?" …."It asked you to come to the Potions classroom at half past eight tonight." Well, here goes nothing. Forcing a slightly nervous smile to her face, Hermione nodded, pushing back and standing up, acutely aware of Ginny, Harry, and Ron's eyes on her back as she did. Trying to look solely at the three people on her far side of the bench, she forced a smile to her face and said, "Well, I hope you all have a lovely end of Christmas." "Yes, Happy Christmas, you two," Phyllis replied with a knowing little smile, Jacobson and she standing up as well. Luckily for both Hermione and Tom, many of the professors also chose that general time to vacate the Hall, causing the attention to be shifted to the opposite end of the table. Dumbledore stood first, receiving a chorus of echoed "G'night, professor"s. The man caught Hermione's eye and smiled; she smiled back thankfully as he pressed the tips of his fingers together, a sure sign that he was about to launch into some long-winded story about unrest in the world, and waited at the foot of the table for Professor Rickter to follow. Tom glanced back at her and began to thread his way around the table and out of the hall. Hermione trailed him at first, her mind swirling, running through whatever possible scenarios involved meeting at the Potions room, and the thought occurred to her that she might actually die of curiosity. Die. You're a sodding coward, Hermione. Just ask him, why don't you? She wasn't quite sure was she was so antsy about this, but... she was. Hermione sighed and reluctantly quickened her pace, drawing up alongside the Slytherin. Keeping her voice low so Dumbledore and Rickter who were following a few feet behind and deep in discussion wouldn't be able to hear, she asked, "So, are we still going to the Potions room, now that we're already together?" "We don't have to." Tom shrugged indifferently, taking out his wand and absently twirling it around his fingers as they walked. "It'd probably be faster if we didn't, actually. It just seemed like a fairly accessible meeting place at the time." "Oh." All preconceived scenarios promptly flew into the mental rubbish bin, and Hermione bit her lower lip pensively. They were a good halfway out of the Great Hall by now, and, before she lost her nerve, she hastily started to inquire, "Where are we g—" "Hey Nef, wait up!" She immediately tensed at Draco's familiar drawl unexpectedly cutting through the air behind her, and thought she saw Tom do the same. Oh, God, they're either going to drag me back or force me to take him as a chaperone. No, no, no…. Hermione stiffly stopped herself before she could take off running for the exit and distractedly waved for Tom to keep going, giving him a small, reassuring smile as Draco jogged over, his silk hair bouncing a bit with each step, a little smirk on his complacent face. Tom, however, clearly had other ideas in mind, and he paused nonchalently a few steps away, his hands idly in his pockets, his head ducked toward the floor. She didn't have to be a genius to figure out that he wanted to be close enough to hear any words that might pass between her and the blond Slytherin… who was, at the moment, less than a wand length away. Well, might as well get this over with as quickly and painlessly as possible. "What do you want?"she asked rather abruptly, so much so that she immediately felt bad about it. She couldn't take it back now, though; all she could do was lift her chin and steel herself for the worst she thought he could and would throw at her… To her (wary) surprise, Draco's smirk merely grew, and he began to raise his arm. Bloody hell, he's actually going to drag me back— ! But her fears were proven incorrect when he simply said, "This got buried under Evans and West's wrapping paper disaster area this morning." Her eyes narrowing suspiciously, Hermione followed his gaze down to his hand."Oh, it's just the sweater!" she exclaimed in (un-wary, now) surprise as he handed her a beautiful, expensively made periwinkle blue cashmere sweater. Relief instantly surged through her body. Thank you God! Draco gave her a scowl that didn't look as scary as it probably should have. "Glad to hear I'm appreciated." "No, sorry, I really did not mean that like it just came out," she laughed, more at herself as she realized that her arm was still shaking slightly, and she clenched her hand to stop it. "Seriously, I really was wondering where it had gotten to. I thought my room might have eaten it; it's an absolute horror at the moment." She smiled and took the super-soft pullover from his outstretched hand, and, having nowhere else to put it, tied the arms around her waist. "Thanks again. It really is lovely." The smirk reappeared on his face, and he casually flicked some platinum hair out of his slyly shining eyes. "Just remember that the next time you decide to A: break my foot while we're dancing, B: ignore me for three days, or C: punch me in the face." "Hey!" Hermione exclaimed, her eyes twinkling playfully, and she whacked his sweater-clad shoulder lightly. Yes indeed, like Hermione, Draco du Lac was also wearing muggle clothes—albeit designer muggle clothes, but muggle clothes nonetheless. "No fair holding that against me-that was years ago!" A soft cough behind her reminded her that Tom Riddle had most likely been privy to their entire conversation. Ohhh right. Don't tell me you forgot about that, Hermione! She paused awkwardly, wondering what she could use as an excuse for voluntarily leaving the Great Hall with Tom Riddle on Christmas night for Merlin knew how long. Homework? No, even Draco wouldn't believe that. Head Business? No again, Dippet had looked and sounded like he had had one too many glasses of honeysuckled rose cordial at dinner, so that wouldn't fly, either. Erm, just because I want to? Hermione couldn't even bring herself to think about how Draco would react to that explanation. Finally, she decided to stick with avoiding it entirely. Lowering her voice even further so Tom, still a considerable distance away, shouldn'tbe able to overhear, she said quietly, "I should be up at the Room of Requirements by 10:30, alright?" Draco's clear azure eyes momentarily narrowed in the Heir of Slytherin's direction, but he nodded shortly. "Alright, whatever you say, Nef…" He glanced at her sharply, an 'Oops, too bad' expression crossing his face. "But if you're not exactly on time, even I won't be able to stop your other two thirds when they go off on a quest to rescue you," he warned, waggling his finger at her. "I know," Hermione said heavily, easily imagining Ron and Harry doing just that. Do I ever know. "Thanks, Draco. I appreciate this." She gave him a small, grateful smile; turned to go—and nearly fell in a heap on the floor. Her feet were glued in place. "What the devil…" Draco tried to step away and vehemently swore under his breath. Glancing back at him in confusion, Hermione saw the Slytherin was stuck in pretty much the same way that she was. What on earth— Come on, Hermione, think logically here. If he's surprised…then he didn't do it… and you didn't do it… Her stomach tightened in dread, and she fervently prayed that her vague idea of why she could not continue moving toward the exit of the Great Hall was absolutely wrong. Almost simultaneously, she and he tilted their heads toward the ceiling, and Hermione's mouth fell open into a horrified little 'O.' Oh sweet Merlin, no. Directly above them, a bundle of mistletoe was quivering excitedly. The bloody thing was probably gleefully laughing its ribbon off. "Oooo, Hermione and Draco!" Phyllis yelled gleefully as she and Jacobson trotted by on their way out of the Great Hall. Hey! You were supposed to be on my side! Hermione thought indignantly, shooting a lethal glare at Phyllis before the two Gryffindors stopped a few feet away, near Tom, probably to stick around and watch the action unfold, Hermione thought sullenly. Of course, Jacobson would have to let out Quiddich-worthy wolf-whistle as he did so and, suddenly, all attention on the Great Hall seemed to be focused solely on Draco and Hermione. Of all the stupid tricks that fate was obviously enjoying at her expense… Draco's eyes suddenly lit up. Not a good sign, Hermione thought faintly as he brought his lips close to her ear. "Well, Nef, now that we're stuck here, we might as well make the best out of it," he murmured in a low, suggestive and not entirely reassuring voice. "What is that supposed to mean?"she hissed, instinctively shooting a quick look at Tom, although she wasn't quite certain why. He was standing in pretty much the same position he had been in before, hands in pockets, face apathetic, but he had tensed immensely, and his head was no longer bowed but perfectly erect as his dark gaze moved between her and Draco... Stupid, bloody mistletoe! "It means that you—" he waved his hand at her with a flourish, "—can help me show them—" he twisted around and aimlessly flungthe hand toward Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Lavender, still sitting at the dinner table and staring between her, Draco, and the mistletoe as if they had just noticed what was going on, "—that I'm not gay," he finished, as if he was explaining the obvious point of a game to a particularly slow child in the middle of class. Hermione's eyebrows shot up, quickly becoming horrified as the words resonated in her mind. Whatever his little 'making the best of it' idea was, it was beginning to sound like she was the one who would be getting ths shorter end of the stick. Much shorter. "How d'you figure that one?" she asked warily. "Wait, wait, let me finish," Draco continued dramatically, holding up his hand, and her interruption caused him to appear slightly put-out. "As I was saying, you can help me show them I'm not gay by letting me demonstrate my abilities." Hermione actually snorted, realizing that their hushed and somewhat intense, whispered conversation was probably leaving the onlookers in a great deal of suspense. "I can help you?" she echoed in amusement. "Maybe my hearing's begun to fail me, but I do believe the problem is entirely yours, Draco dear, not mine." Looking back on the situation, she saw that it had had the potential to be immensely funny… had she not been the one stuck under the mistletoe. Suddenly, she rolled her eyes as the last thing he had said registered. "Your 'abilities?' " Do I even want to know what those are? "Yes, my abilities," he retorted as if her ignorance of these "abilities" was a personal insult to his ego. "And you know Wonder Boy, Reds Senior and Junior, and the Laughing Menace will never let me live that down if I don't give him an example!" he hissed in her ear. Oh, God. And she thought that kissing Viktor in public had been bad enough. Mentally running through every curse she knew and systematically hurling them at the mistletoe, Hermione regarded Draco-though she wasn't quite sure what she was looking for, exactly- but when she didn't find it, she let out a loud, exasperated sigh and threw up her hands. "Oh, alright. Do what you have to, make it snappy, and don't you dare get messy." Blasted Christmas decorations! A tiny smirk quirked at Draco's lips but Hermione hardly noticed; all she knew was that his mouth was moving toward her with an aura of unspoiled confidence, and she squeezed her eyes shut... Oh God, let it be fast, let it be— The mistletoe burst into a metaphorical ball of flames as Draco locked onto her mouth with such force, she actually couldn't breathe… She managed a tiny gasp, though, and Draco, apparently taking that as a signal to go forward, deepened the kiss; distantly she heard another one of Jacobson's piercing whistles cut through the Great Hall, and it was obvious to her that Draco knew what he was doing... But Hermione couldn't kiss him back. She just couldn't. All she could think was that everything about this felt so, so wrong, and with a large amount of effort, she abruptly pulled back from him so hard that she stumbled backward a step, gasping in a breath; after the way he had kissed her, the mistletoe clearly had no other choice but to let them go. Oh my... Oh my God... The blond casually caught her before she could fall and grinned down at her boyishly. "Thanks, Nef, I think that did the trick…." He trailed off, his gaze sliding over her shoulder. Suddenly, a smirk appeared on his face, the exact same smirk Hermione had seem him repeatedly give Harry in seventh year after the one Quiddich game that he had beaten the Gryffindor prodigy to the Snitch. Curiously, Hermione frowned and glanced over her shoulder, following his gaze... and stopped at Tom Riddle. Immediately, she narrowed her eyes, calculatingly looking between Draco's smug face and Tom's hollow, dark expression… and she easily figured out exactly who Draco's smirk was meant for. Pure anger surged through every nerve of her body, momentarily blinding her rationality, but she honestly didn't give a damn. Furiously, she turned back on Draco. "Why, you little— " SLAP! The sharp, otherwise completely unexpected sound resonated throughout the Great Hall so soundly that, immediately, a thick silence settled down up on the room like a cloud of fog, and an angry, bright red handprint burst out on Draco's perfect ivory skin. Hermione actually took a step back toward Draco and jabbed a finger at his chest, and the Slytherin stared at her in actual shock, as if he couldn't possibly believe that she would ever do that to him. Still, she vehemently hissed, "Your little charms might work on every other woman on the planet, but I have been gifted with extraordinary resistance from men like you!" The nerve of Draco Malfoy du Lac! But honestly... what in God and Merlin's names was he playing at? Giving a dumbstruck Draco one last snooty, fuming glare, she proudly lifted her chin and marched toward the exit. "Come on," she barked irately as she passed Tom, and she was mildly surprised as he wordlessly followed her stormy departure from the Great Hall. Hermione breezed through the doorway ahead of him, her mind miles away, and angrily spluttered, "That… that… arrrrgh!" She balled her fists in frustration and considered slamming them against the nearest wall, but thought better of it at the last minute and instead flung them into the air, shaking them. After a moment, she turned back to Tom, seething, still too shocked and livid to form coherent sentences. "ARRRR!" Tom pulled the door shut behind him and turned around to face her, his eyebrows flying up in surprise at her latest cavewoman-like growl. "Nefertari, have you lost your bloody mind?" She let out a little, dignified snort and rolled her eyes. "Don't you give me that, you know perfectly well what I'm on about. That arrogant, self-absorbed wanker!" Heatedly, she raked a hand through her long, curly tresses and began to mutter darkly, more to herself than to Tom, "And here he came crawling back to me this morning, all, 'Ohhhh, Nef, forgive me, I haven't really meant to be a prat lately…' Just… just… Oooo!" Hermione was partially surprised that, instead of being angry at how Draco had snogged her senseless right in front of him—and whoever else was in the Great Hall, for that matter—the Heir of Slytherin actually appeared a bit amused. "You seem to have recently developed a violent tendency toward Slytherins," he said, a small smirk hovering at his lips. "Should I be concerned?" "Only if your hair suddenly turns blond," she grumbled crossly, crossing her arms angrily. Whoa there, Hermione... get ahold of yourself before you kill someone! She snorted to herself, highly doubting that her resentment at the prat for taking advantage of her like that was going to fade anytime soon. Still, she took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself down... but she couldn't help but again burst out furiously, "I mean, honestly, did you see what he did?" Tom's pleased expression faded, and Hermione immediately regretted her words as he stiffly mirrored her cross-armed stance and stared at the wall, his jaw clenched. "Yeah, I saw what he did," he eventually muttered tonelessly, darkly. For some reason, it was as if someone had reached directly inside of her, had grasped her heart with a wrench, and had twisted. Hard. She held back a gasp, but before she could say anything, he hastily glanced over at her and quite unexpectedly took her hand. "Come on, let's go before we both get too tired for it." Too tired for what? Hermione wondered, finally feeling the angry heat in her temples start to cool as he briskly set off down the same corridor in whichshe had gone after him earlier— only, this time, he made a left instead of a right. She dizzily followed his every turn and had to reluctantly admit that she was completely lost, the sporadic torchlights and classroom doorswhirring by at dangerously fast speeds. Apparently, Tom Riddle had unlocked more secret passages, hidden rooms, and dusty corridors than the Marauders could shake a stick at. After what seemed like only seconds, though—at least to Hermione—the Head Boy began to slow down. Hermione blinked and tried once more to identify her location. Voila! She thought victoriously as they turned another unmemorable corner, and then theunmistakable door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom came into sight. A familiar place! "Aside from this year's welcoming feast, I haven't eaten in there in five and a half years," Tom said suddenly, breaking the unusual, almost eerie silence in the temporarily uninhabited hallway of classrooms. Hermoment of self-triumph passed, and she stared up at him in disbelief. Five and a half years? Merlin, five and half years ago I was in love with Ron… and Sirius was still alive… and my parents… and Voldemort wasn't even resurrected yet— Voldemort. Her mind lingered on the extreme irony of her life. The man who I am willingly following to Merlin knows where right now. Although, at this point, she was having a nearly impossible time associating Tom with the towering, red-eyed, inhuman Dark Lord of the future. Sure, there were occasional glimpses of darker traits that could have easily mutated into Voldemort, but here, in this altered universe, everything seemed so horribly, horribly wrong. Here, he had chosen the right path… and he was dying for it. Oh, God, it just wasn't fair! Finally, she said quietly, "I'm sorry for you." For the life you've missed. He stopped walking and faced her, his voice low. "Nefertari, don't be sorry for me." Abruptly, he let go of her hand and turned back to the beautiful inlay of the smooth door in front of them, wonderfully preserved despite years of student yanking, slamming, and manhandling. Reaching down the neck of his robes and emerging with the glittering snake-eyed emerald and diamond-encrusted silver amulet Hermione had seen on him in the Hospital Wing, he added roughly, "It's not worth your time." "Wait, maybe I phrased that wrong,"she said. "What I mean is, I worry. About Harry, Ron, Draco, Ginny, Lav. About you." She paused and frowned at him curiously, patiently leaning against the wall as she waited for him to finish whatever it was that he was doing. She gnawed her lip thoughtfully, gazing at him. What is he doing? The tall Slytherin had walked right up to the door, but, rather than opening it, he pressed the Slytherin amulet flat on the aged wood, covering it with his palm. At one point her in life, had she seen Tom Riddle playing with some Slytherin familyheirloom in some dark corridor, she might have been just a tad bit suspicious… but she trusted him now. She did. She trusted Tom Marvolo Riddle. Really, it only sounded just as foreign to her now as saying 'I trust Draco Malfoy' did three years ago, she reasoned with herself, as long as she ignored the fact that she might involuntarily strangle Draco if she crossed paths with him again sometime today. "I can't help but worry about you, sometimes, you know," she cheerfully informed him, if for no other reason than to break the silence. "You're my friend. I don't really have much of a choice in the matter." Tom closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the door, causing some of his dark hair to plaster to his brow and more of it to messily splay away from his face, and under his breath, he muttered what sounded remotely like, "You bloody well shouldn't." The wrench twisted again, painfully hard. "Tom—" "Ssssshh," he quickly turned and cut her off, placing a finger on his lips, his stormy gray eyes bright and alert as he studied her again, giving her the full laser-scan look-over, digging deep into her questioning gaze. Hermione wasn't exactly sure what he was looking for, so she simply smiled at him, an honest, genuine smile. "What, do I… do I have some raspberry-meringue custard still on my face or something?" Tom's eyes actually snapped to focus, and, as he critically swept his gaze over her face as if he really was looking for any remnants of the Christmas dessert, Hermione realized with a start that he hadn't been staring at her like thata second , now he was looking at her on the outside, but before… it had seemed like he had been trying to read her very soul. Eventually, he said caustically, "If you did before, I think du Lac managed to get it off for you." Hermione's laugh at his taking her lighthearted question so seriously died in her throat, and she sighed heavily, mentally groaning. Like two little boys, they were. "That's not fair, you know it isn't," she said tiredly. She really didn't want to get into an argument with him on Christmas, but she felt like she had to let him know what he was doing, and that it was irritating. Sighing, she forced herself to add, "And, just so you know, I think the color green suits you in every aspect but this one." Tom's eyebrows narrowed, his brooding eyes darkening. "Are you insinuating that I'm jealous?" No, d'you think? Hermione crossed her arms and had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. Men. They deny everything. "Your words, not mine." Vehemently, the Slytherin opened his mouth, then closed it just as quickly and shook his head, as if he had decided that it wasn't worth it. Instead, he seemed ready to throw it in and just leave her there. Wordlessly, he turned back down the hallway, tucking his chain back under his robes and shaking his head. Great, way to run him off, Herm. Annnd this is not a good way to end the row. Sighing, Hermione stepped up right behind him. Hesitantly, she lifted her arm, lowered it indecisively… and then lifted it again, placing her hand gently on his arm. "Wait… my point is, you don't need to be jealous of anyone." He stiffened, but she drew closer, stood on tiptoe so that her mouth was right up against his ear, and the words she had had so much trouble forming earlier finally came out. "Tom, I… I love you, not Draco du Lac. You, and only you." Carefully, she turned his disbelieving face toward hers and kissed him lightly, her lips lingering on his as she breathed, "And I will always love you. I promise." "Nefertari…" A tiny, burning flicker burst into Tom's gray eyes, and, all of a sudden, his head shot down the last inch or so to her face and roughly locked onto her mouth. He threw so much passion into his actions that Hermione subconsciously saw stars, but she didn't care; she gasped and ran her hand through his soft, thick hair. She couldn't get enough of him, he was suddenly everywhere: Hermione was breathing him and tasting him and feeling him, and she felt like she never wanted to be anywhere else, doing nothing else but drowning herself in Tom Marvolo Riddle… "Nefertari, the library's on fire!" Startled, Hermione's heart leapt, and she jumped at least a foot, shaking her head vigorously, blinking woozily. Wha… Fire…Fire where? … I mean, where fire…? "I have been shouting your name for more than a minute." Tom's voice had taken on a slightly exasperated edge. He had obviously finished giving her the laser-stare, and now he was looking at her rather impatiently, the expression in his eyes growing a bit more fatigued as he held the Slytherin Amulet to the polished wood of the Defense door. "For a second I actually thought you died standing up. I was just about to summon Lamberdeau." Dear God, I did not just have some perverted fantasy right out here in front of him! Blood rushed to her head, and to her utter dismay she felt her face start to burn. No! It was the mistletoe! That bloody mental plant set me off! "Erm…" I swear I will never live this down until the day I die. "Erm, right." Hermione chuckled dryly at the image of Madam Lamberdeau flying, zooming down the hallways to Tom's wand, and she coughed, clearing her throat, praying that the embarrassment she was dying ofon the inside wasn't quite as obvious on the outside. "Sorry, I, erm, sort of zoned out… Where were we?" "Outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom." Tom smirked, but the look swiftly faded into something deadly serious, an expression more solemn than any he had ever wore on his face, and when he spoke, his voice spoke volumes for the significance of the moment, whatever it was. "I was saying that I need to know if you… Christ, what am I doing?" he abruptly muttered harshly, and, in a jagged movement, he turned his back on her, roughly raking a hand through his hair. If I what? Blankly, she stared at the thin back of his well-used dark Slytherin robes, only coming eye-level with about the top of his shoulder. She hadn't the slightest idea what he was getting himself so worked up about... it was just the Defense Against the Dark Arts door! "How well can you keep secrets, Nefertari?" he suddenly asked slowly, still facing away from her, his voice partially muffled as if he was trying to restrain himself from saying too much. Oh. Ohhhhhh. Hermione's breath caught, and her eyebrows shot up, her heart again thudding heavily in her chest… and not just because she was standing with an exceptionally attractive Head Boy in the middle of a dimly lit, empty corridor. So that's where he was going. If she said that she wasn't positively burning with curiosity, she would fail a lie detector test horribly. Who wouldn't be if the Heir of Slytherin himself asked them a question like that? "Well enough that I'll carry a good many to my grave," she eventually replied softly. A good many… like how I've destroyed you. Like how I think I might love you. Tom angled his head just slighlty so he could shrewdly glance back at her. She held her breath apprehensively, steadily meeting his piercing, soul-searching gaze, and she saw him relent in his stormy, intelligent eyes before he even turned back to the Defense door and held the Slytherin Amulet against the wood. With one last calculating, almost anxious glance in her direction, Tom leaned his head very close to the snake charm and the door… And, very quietly, he hissed. The unnatural sound reverberated off the walls and echoed longer and louder than it should have in the deserted corridor. Simultaneously, the snake's miniature emerald eyes flashed, and two tiny rays of haunting, brilliant green shot like twin lasers into the darkened hall, supernaturally reflecting off the shiny silver of the knight's armor across the way, and the Defense Against the Dark Arts door swung open with a small, ghostly creeeeek. Only the sight that met Hermione's eyes wasn't the interior of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Rather, she found herself gazing into the murky, shadowy gloom of what appeared to be the top of a flight of stone steps that disappeared into a hole of darkness. Her mouth fell open as if someone had attached a weight to her chin. She wasn't going to lie; Tom Riddle had just rendered her speechless, and her mind began to fumble for answers. But the Defense door… into a staircase? What?… This doesn't make any sense; nothing like this is even supposed to be here… This isn't in Hogwarts, A History! "That bothers you, I suppose," Tom said dully. Hermione leapt about an inch and stared at him as if she was noticing for the first time how he was standing right next to her, an uncharacteristically uneasy expression in his eyes. "Well, a doorway I have walked through practically every other day during my entire school—erm, since I've been here has suddenly turned into that." She jabbed a finger at the dodgy stairway. "If you don't mind, I think I'm permitted a moment of astonishment." "No…" Tom looked surprised at her response, and, strangely, it was he who sounded nervous then as he added awkwardly, probably figuring it was too late to back out, "I mean, my speaking Parseltongue." Hermione stared at him. "Oh." Hehe, forgot about that tiny little detail... Alright, so I'm an idiot. Honestly, though, she had heard Harry speak it on quite a few occasions, so it really hadn't registered in her mind the way that it probably would have registered to the ordinary wizarding folk— The Omigod, he's speaking Parseltongue, but, like, nobody can speak Parseltongue except Dark wizards… omigod, he must be a Dark wizard… "Oh… I've, erm… got a friend, actually, who can do that, so… no, it doesn't." Hermione thought that it was a pretty convincing explanation, and she wasn't lying to him at all, just... withholding the truth a bit. Tom eyes narrowed skeptically, though,and he seemed taken aback. "You do?" he asked, doubt hanging heavily in his tone. Momentarily placing himself in his shoes, she supposed that if she told him something of that magnitude—for example, that she had come from the future— he would probably be just a tad bit dubious, so she shrugged, trying to come off as indifferently as she could, "Yeah, someone from my old school." She purposely omitted how that someone was also currently attending her "new" school, and glanced at him nonchalantly. "I mean, haven't you met anyone else who can speak Parseltongue?" "I haven't, actually. It's…" Tom trailed off, as if searching for the proper wording, and then continued in a low voice. "Let's just say popular opinion here doesn't particularly consider it a good ability to have." Yeah, and that's putting it about as tactfully as you can. And she didn't miss the bitter twist to his voice. "Erm… it'snot always so bad, where I come from," she drawled out slowly, shrugging again, trying to lift the darkening mood of the conversation. When Tom turned on her, honest-to-God disbelief scrawled all over his expression, she added lightly, "Tom, if you have it, you have it. You can't do anything about that." A small, tired smile tugged at his lips but didn't quite make it onto his face. "That's what I thought, too." The incredulity still hovered in his eyes, but he suddenly shook his head and took a step backward onto the top stair. Immediately, a torch, previously hidden in the darkness behind him, flickered and came to life, lighting up what appeared to be a narrow, spiral staircase leading down into the depths of the castle. "Come on." Now, sure, Hermione trusted him, but even trust had its limits, and he had most definitely just hit one of them. You have got to be kidding me. She stared at him incredulously, her tongue finally losing enough of its numbness to ask, "Down there?" And exactly where is 'there,' anyway? Tom seemed to read her mind as a stray lock of hair fell into his eyes. Glancing upward and distractedly patting down some of the flyaway dark ends that he had unintentionally mussed earlier, he said impatiently, "This is entirely safe; you have my word on that." Uh-huh, famous last words there, buddy. When the Head Girl raised her eyebrows at him, mentally sending him a 'Yeah, right, because anything that requires using a secret passage that isn't even mentioned in Hogwarts, A History is entirely safe' look, the Heir of Slytherin sighed. "Nefertari, if I really wanted to assault you, I wouldn't have waited until now." Slytherins. They just have the brightest way of putting things into perspective. Hermione rolled her eyes, still avoiding his hand. "You know just how to make my night all warm and fuzzy, don't you?" SLAM! In the near distance, another door either banged shut or open, and the sound of two familiar voices, chatting animatedly, suddenly rang down the corridor, the words increasing in volume. Dumbledore and Rickter. Coming this way. Not good, not good, ohhh not good. Uncertainly, she threw a glance down the hallway and then looked back at Tom. She was going to have to make a forced, spontaneous decision. For some reason, a memory of how she had almost gotten herself and Harry killed by centaurs in their fifth year flashed through her brain, and then one of how she had set Snape on fire during the Quiddich match in first year when it was actually Quirrell who was the problem. Somehow, it seemed that many of her forced, spontaneous decisions managed to backfire. Tom took another step back down the staircase to make room for her, and suddenly, a bit urgently, he held out his hand toward her. "Nefertari, trust me." The voices were steadily getting louder and louder… Merlin protect me. Taking a deep breath, Hermione thrust her hand into his. She could help but wonder what on earth she was getting herself into as a small, genuine, miniature version of "The Smile" lit up his face, spreading even to his eyes. In one fluid motion, he both carefully pulled her through the doorway and, pointing his wand around her, quietly closed the door with nothing more than a casual flick of his wrist. As if he had pressed a button, the staircase made a dull grinding noise and began to twist in a spiral. It was almost like the stairs up to the Headmaster's office, Hermione noted, except this flight quickly plunged them both downward into what once was darkness, but was now proving to be a very ancient looking stone staircase as more lit torches followed their descent, the chill rising proportionally the lower they got. Reluctantly, Hermione had to admit it was impressive. Down, down, down they sank, chill soon giving way to frosty, wintry cold. For what it was worth, they might as well have been outside, Hermione thought, her numbing fingers fumbling to untie from around her waist the arms of the sweater Draco had given her. Sure, he may have been the worst sort of prat imaginable at the moment, but she wasn't about to freeze because she decided to boycott his Christmas present. She quickly pulled the heavenly soft, periwinkle sweater over her first sweater, thanking God for the warmth that followed, and rubbed her hands together— if anything, to distract herself from a dull, brooding fear of where he was taking her… Although another part of her still couldn't quite believe that Tom Riddle would actually show her what was probably one of his greatest secrets. And the only real, coherent thought still intact in her mind was, Didn't Harry say the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was in a bathroom? Her stomach immediately twisted in some fabulous aerobic display, and she fought the urge to tear herself away and run. But run, run where? Up a disappearing flight of stairs? Plus the fact that Tom had not stopped watching her since she had stepped onto the lowering stairs in the first place had only heightened her intense creeped-outness. Choking back a strangled noise, Hermione asked, "Tom… Where are we going?" At the sound of her voice, Tom blinked rapidly as if to shake himself from a trance, and, as the moving staircase slooowly scraped to a stop, opening out into a damp, shadowy stone tunnel, he met her gaze, his expression frustratingly unreadable. "The Chamber of Secrets," he said simply. HUR FAN SKA JAG LYCKAS TA MIG IGENOM DET HÄR PÅ EN HALVTIMME?!?!! DET ÄR JU FÖRFAN MER ÄN VAD JAG HAR SKRIVIT I HELA MITT LIV!!! Var tvungen att kolla hur många ord det var, hehe... svimmade lite när jag såg svaret. 19 jun, 2012 00:14 |
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AlvaRawenclaw
Elev
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♥
speech! 19 jun, 2012 00:22 |
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whirlwinds
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fuck off
19 jun, 2012 01:46 |
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Sovsvampen
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*tomt*
 
19 jun, 2012 08:17 |
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AlvaRawenclaw
Elev
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♥
speech! 19 jun, 2012 09:44 |
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reckless
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believe in happy endings
CharmBlood26477 @ Pottermore 19 jun, 2012 11:13 |
Forum > Quidditchplanen > Vad har ni i ert "ctrl + v" just nu?
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