Hermione's Riddle

The Masquerade Ball

Tom came to consciousness but dared not to stir. His head was propped up on something that felt a lot like a pair of legs. Fingers absentmindedly ran through his hair.

Memories of earlier came to him. Tom and Hermione were in the library reading. He must have fallen asleep and somehow wound up in Hermione's lap. Much to Tom's indignation, he felt relaxed with this girl running her fingers through his hair as if they were lovers.

Tom propped himself up onto his elbows slowly so as to not startle the witch. It wasn't out of consideration, he just didn't want to startle her in case she drew her wand. He realized he was making excuses in his head as to why he lingered in her touch. If Tom was to succeed in the future that he had planned out, he would have to figure out what was wrong with him.

"You're awake," said Hermione with a small, friendly smile, one he had not seen from her before.

Tom narrowed his eyes. He noticed that it was becoming difficult to glare with each passing day. "You were running your fingers through my hair," accused Tom.

She frowned. "I did?" asked Hermione, puzzled.

Before he could say anything more, a pecking sound came from the window behind them. Turning around, he saw his large barn owl, Wizengamot. Presumptuous, he knows, but it doesn't hurt to dream.

"Whose owl is that?"

"Mine." Tom got up to go to the window. He thought it best to put some distance between him and the witch instead of just magically opening the window. He untied the letter off the owl's leg. He closed the window when it flew away. Tom unfurled the parchment and quickly read over it.

"Who is it from?" Tom couldn't help but to notice her accusatory tone.

"Do I detect jealousy," chuckled Tom. "Fear not, it is not from a lover."

He watched as the witch bristled with annoyance. "I'm not jealous. I just don't want to see letters from your followers." Her distaste for him having followers is clear. Tom knew she hated the idea of having followers, though he couldn't understand why.

"Well, it's not from my followers either." Tom decided to spare her, not wanting to have the witch in a grumpy mood. He loved to push her to the point of anger but this was different. She wasn't as amusing when she was angered by his beliefs than by his antics. "The letter is an invitation to a masquerade ball from my grandmother."

Hermione looked at him with wide eyes. "I thought the only family you had left living was an uncle."

Tom shook his head as he rolled the parchment up. "My paternal grandparents are alive and who invited us to the ball."

He couldn't help but to feel some satisfaction when Hermione's thought process skipped over the word us. "And you get along with them? I thought you hated muggles!"

"I don't hate muggles, I just find them to be mere pests. As for my grandparents, I do not get along with my grandfather. The guy is rather distasteful. My grandmother, on the other hand, is trying to reach out and connect with me. I believe it to be in my best interest in case I ever need their influence in the muggle world." Tom wanted to grit his teeth and curse himself. He didn't understand why he wanted to-no, needed to-explain his life to her. She better be willing to join his side by the end of the break or he would seriously consider taking a page out of Abraxas Malfoy's book and obliviate all traces of Hermione Norris from his mind to save himself from the insanity of it all.

"So. . . you're going?"

"Yes, we are."

Hermione jolted up from her seat. "What do you mean we?"