I spent much of the next week isolated in the Chamber of secrets, not particularly wanting to see anyway, having contradicting thoughts, both wanting to kill Harry and not to, wanting to get rid of Tom, and desperately clinging onto him like my life depended on it. Perhaps it did.
It didn't help that Christmas was approaching fast. I had Slughorn's party to go to, and I'd fallen behind in my workload, even with Tom's help.
After almost two weeks of almost completely isolation I finally felt I was ready to return back to "normal" life. As normal as it could be for me anyway.
The castle had already been decorated for Christmas; Hagrid had already single-handedly delivered the usual twelve Christmas trees for the Great Hall; garlands of holly and tinsel had been twisted around the banisters of the stairs; everlasting candles glowed from inside the helmets of suits of armor and great bunches of mistletoe had been hung at intervals along the corridors.
Harry seemed to have forgiven me, more or less. I assumed he chalked my reaction up to an abundance of stress. And Ron was in a much better mood, joking and laughing now. But that came at a price.
Firstly, I had to put up with the frequent presence of Lavender Brown, who apparently was dating Ron now, and she seemed to regard any moment that she was not kissing Ron as a moment wasted; and secondly, it meant that Ron and Hermione seemed unlikely ever to speak to each other again, which annoyed the hell out of me.
"She can't complain," Ron told Harry and me. "She snogged Krum. So she's found out someone wants to snog me too. Well, it's a free country. I haven't done anything wrong."
I bit back my retort. I didn't quite think this was the right time. I felt a sharp pain in my finger, where my horcrux was, as if it was telling me not to hold back.
Harry also did not answer, pretending to be absorbed in the book we were supposed to have read before Charms next morning.
"I never promised Hermione anything," Ron mumbled. "I mean, all right, I was going to go to Slughorn's Christmas party with her, but she never said . . . just as friends . . . I'm a free agent. . . ."
"Last time I checked she asked me not you Ron." I shot back not able to hold back my retort. I felt a slight surge of pride that seemed to eminent from my finger.
"Yeah well she was going to ask me first." Ron said.
Harry turned a page of his book, as Ron ranted on and on, and after a while I stopped replying, it just wasn't worth it.
...
Hermione's schedule was so full that Harry and I could only talk to her properly in the evenings, when Ron was, in any case, so tightly
wrapped around Lavender that he did not notice what we were doing.
Hermione refused to sit in the common room while Ron was there, not that I blamed her, so we generally joined her in the library, which meant that our conversations were held in whispers.
"He's at perfect liberty to kiss whomever he likes," said Hermione, while the librarian, Madam Pince, prowled the shelves behind them. "I really couldn't care less."
She raised her quill and dotted an i so ferociously that she punctured a hole in her parchment. Harry said nothing.
"If you say so." I muttered, a dark pulse from my finger urging me to reply with something mean.
"And incidentally," said Hermione, after a few moments, "you need to be careful Harry."
"For the last time," said Harry, speaking in a slightly hoarse whisper after three-quarters of an hour of silence, "I am not giving back this book, I've learned more from the Half-Blood Prince than Snape or Slughorn have taught me in —"
YOU ARE READING
The Weasley of Slytherin: The Half Blood Prince
Fanfiction(Y/n) Riddle has spent almost two months in Azkaban, feeling more and more distract, devoid of almost all interacts expect for the occasional visit. His only hope is his upcoming trial, but who knows how that will end.
