Misunderstood Maledictions | Tomione

Tom's Card

8:07 P.M.

Tom Riddle woke from his sleeping draught at exactly 8:07 P.M.

Hermione knew this because she had finally managed to throw together some kind of goodwill packaged for Riddle and set it on his bedside table by 8:06 P.M., and she had nearly jumped out of her skin when the dark-haired boy heaved a deep sigh and rolled over. She had managed to flee to safety behind the Infirmary/ Private Sick Room floor-to-ceiling cloth divide. Unfortunately, she had not made it to the safety of the Hospital Wing door and the freedom of the corridor.

Resignedly, she settled on waiting for Madam L to make an appearance, and, in the distraction, she would make a stealthy exit. Wishing that she had remembered to borrow Harry's invisibility cloak, Hermione silently pulled out a chair from beside one of the beds and yawned, sitting down to pass the time behind her curtained cover. As Madam L hustled out of her office and made her way over to Riddle's bed, however, Hermione just couldn't help but be drawn to the crack in the material.

Now was her chance, her chance to make a run for it. Go, Hermione, go, her mind urged...

But she didn't.

Instead, she watched, her curiosity rendering her immobile, as Riddle slowly pushed himself to a sitting position, and Madam L began to fuss over him—much to his irritation, Hermione could tell. Finally, Madam L seemed to be satisfied with her miniature check-up. "And how are you feeling, Mr. Riddle?" she asked briskly.

"Like I could take on a herd of hippogriffs single-handedly and win," Riddle said tonelessly, his face bored, already pulling away the covers from his bed. "Can I go, please?"

"You most certainly cannot; get back in that bed!" Madam L exclaimed, for the first time strongly reminding Hermione of Madam Pompfrey. She waved her wand at Riddle indignantly and firmly pushed him back into the bed despite his considerable height advantage over her, returning the covers to their original position. "I will not allow you to leave this Hospital Wing until I observe you for at least one more day, so don't you even think about it, laddie!"

As soon as Madam L turned to check up on a now unconscious Draco. He had woken up and immediately been drugged with Sleep Drought. Riddle scowled at the woman's back, visibly annoyed. It was then that he noticed the card and wrapped package on his bedside table.

Without even glancing at them closely, Riddle reached over and snatched up the two rectangles, one paper thin and lightweight, one wide and heavy. "Excuse me, Madam Lamberdeau?"

Oh, how polite he becomes.

From her place at the foot of Draco's bed, the Mediwitch turned expectantly, and Riddle held the card and present out to her. A small smirk had edged its way onto his face as he glanced toward Draco' bed. "I think someone got their deliveries mixed up," he noted indifferently, almost mockingly. He tilted his head toward the blond Slytherin's wall of worship. "Somehow missed the big pile next to du Lac."

But Madam L squinted at the package and shook her head. "Oh, no, laddie," she said with only the slightest of smiles. She expertly checked the sleeping Draco's stats, hung his chart off the side of his bed, and headed back to her side office. "Those are for you."

For about a minute after she disappeared, Riddle stared at the spot near Draco's bed where Madam L had last been standing, the smirk gradually fading from his face. Slowly, he lowered the card and package onto his bed, and his grey eyes flickered down to read the name on the envelope.

Hermione had debated furiously on how to address the card. She had considered her four options: Tom Riddle, Riddle, Tom, and Lord Voldemort. Option Number Four wouldn't have gone over too well for obvious reasons, and for some reason, Hermione was becoming slightly, slightly irritated with her friends whenever they constantly referred to Tom Riddle as Voldemort. It just... Well, she didn't know, exactly, but it just didn't seem right, somehow.

Anyway, using Tom Riddle would have sounded ridiculously anal; who called people by their first and last name in a get-well card? So it was either Tom or Riddle. She hadn't the slightest idea why she even thought that the name was such a big deal; after all, a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet or sour and la-dee-da-da...

Out of politeness, she chose to write Tom.

Riddle silently read his name, turned the envelope over in his hands, and opened the flap, pulling out the card. Hermione hated to pry—or, more appropriately, spy— but her curiosity at his reaction was boiling over. When Riddle saw the cover, his eyebrows shot up, and Hermione almost laughed, then almost punched herself for almost blowing her cover.

The card was ridiculous, she knew. Not ridiculously bad, just ridiculously cute for a recipient like the Heir of Slytherin. After looking in her trunk and finding that she had irresponsibly overlooked packing get-well cards for possible future dark lords who had been cursed by their mother, Hermione had been forced to raid the Ravenclaw common room. After a good hour of searching and a few tense moments, she had finally found a fourth year who was staying in close owl contact with her sick Muggle cousin back home.

The get-well card had, ironically, cost her a ten-inch scroll on the pros and cons of time travel.

But it was all she could find to work with in such a short amount of time. So the front page of the card showed a brown colored pug in some type of darker color cloak. The dog looked incredibly cute. Next to that the text said.

'Heard your feeling RUFF get well soon!'

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Riddle flipped open the cover.

Hermione knew the first words he had to see were: 'From a friend—GET WELL SOON,' because, well, they had already been scrawled across most of the page. For the personal message, though, she had decided to go with light humour, and underneath, she had scripted in her own handwriting:

'Because if you don't get well soon then I would have no one to argue with and I might have to murder you for abandoning me to carry the weight of this entire school on my poor little back unless the responsibility of it all drives me to insanity before I get the chance... so don't you dare stay in that bed much longer!'

She smirked, remembering her run-on message, and, in his bed, Riddle mirrored her expression. Then he squinted at the last line and frowned.

This time, Hermione smiled.

'P.S. Keep it. I really do mean the last part. And the first.–Hermione N.'

Still seeming a bit confused, Riddle set the card back down on the bed and lifted the brightly decorated package, wrapped in alternating shades of shiny forest green and silver paper. It looked very Slytherin, if Hermione did say so herself.

Oh, please, she thought as Riddle flipped the package over and onto its back, you have to guess what it is! There is only one thing that can be that square, that compact, and that heavy! To her chagrin, he found the paper's seam and carefully slid his finger along it, as if he didn't want to tear the wrapping paper. People like that drove her mad. Come on, she wanted to scream, Just rip it bloody open!

Of course, being true to his meticulous self, he didn't, but he successfully managed to cleanly split the seam. He pulled the paper away, revealing the back of a very old, worn, and dusty book. His expression surprisingly curious — surprising because he was actually showing emotion — Riddle turned the aged book over and read the cover.

Hermione watched in shock as, for the very first time since she had met him, a faint, hesitant but genuine smile reached the Heir of Slytherin's face. The edges of his grey eyes crinkled slightly, his pale face gained some healthy colouring...

And, for a single moment, as he held The Most Thorough and Complete History of the Founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in his hands, Tom Riddle looked happy.

A/N: The get well card visual is above.