Saving Tom Riddle [Tomione]

Chapter 4

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HERMIONE’S POV

The day after Tom asked me to the Hallowe’en Ball – and I said yes – he sat next to me at breakfast.

Rosa Parkinson, who was across from us, looked ready to kill.

Tom seemed more reserved than usual.

“Is there something wrong, Tom?” I asked, concerned.

He frowned and shook his head. “No…”

Parkinson glared at me. Watch your mouth, Argentum, she mouthed.

I raised my eyebrows at her. “Are you really telling me not to care about Tom? That’s ridiculous. Last time I checked, friends were there to look out for each other.”

Tom looked up at his name. “It’s true, Parkinson. Now, can you two please stop arguing?”

We returned to our breakfast, but then Professor Dippet stood up, looking grave.

“There has been a disquieting development,” he began. “This morning, our groundskeeper, Ogg, discovered a centaur dead in the forest. Judging by the state of its body, it had only died last night. It had been tortured using the Cruciatus Curse and killed with the Killing Curse, both Unforgivable Curses that can send the caster of these spells straight to Azkaban. Therefore, if any of you know anything about these events, I invite you to step forward, either now or straight after breakfast. Thankyou.”

He sat back down and the Hall buzzed with whispered conversation.

Some people glanced over at some fourth-years at the Gryffindor table, presumably Hagrid’s friends until last year when he was expelled.

I had no idea who it had been, I just sat there in shock. Some sixth-year boys a few seats down the table were huddled together, whispering among themselves.

One of the boys – someone Avery – glanced down the table at Tom.

Then I realised.

One of Voldemort’s Death Eaters had had the surname Avery, according to –

I pushed his name away and focused on my trail of thought. Avery had been a Death Eater. Another boy in the group, Abraxas Malfoy, I knew for certain to be Draco Malfoy’s grandfather and so he was probably a Death Eater too.

Combine that and their nervousness with a greatly reserved young Voldemort, the source of the crime was obvious.

I looked over at Tom accusingly. He met my eye and shifted uncomfortably.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” I accused him.

I didn’t wait for the response, I just got up from the Slytherin table and stormed off.

Tom stared after me, looking lost and confused, but I didn’t turn back.

When I reached the Common Room, I mumbled the password and collapsed onto a couch. I put my head in my hands.

I had failed.

Tom was going to become Voldemort and kill Harry – and there was nothing I could do.