Where are you? I have a birthday present for you- two, actually.
He'd been in the library, rifling through book after book in the hopes of just stumbling across it. An answer, another way, Tom didn't care- he'd take anything that wasn't the grim reality he was facing.
"Your journal's gonna catch on fire if you don't reply-" Nott tossed it to him from across the aisle, the worn bindings already beginning to smoulder.
My birthday was weeks ago.
They hadn't celebrated it. Or Christmas, really. Tom wondered if they'd ever get a chance to do those normal things- things couples did. Part of him wanted to. There was a safety in celebrations, something so far removed from what he was used to, and he supposed it might be nice. She liked that sort of thing. I don't even know when her birthday is.
And I was a bit preoccupied with trying not to die, so we're doing the birthday shit today.
Tom stared at her message. Hannah joked about it now, gallows humour seeming far too easy for her. It's not a joke, he thought to himself, it's a coping mechanism.
"Got to go," he muttered to Nott, who was elbow deep in a stack of books, looking vastly out of place.
He left him, ignoring the grumble of something like I'll just do all the hard work, then.
Tom almost walked straight past her, on autopilot as he flung open the doors to the hospital wing- only, she was outside it this time. For the first time, since that day. Stood with her arms folded, trying her best to look indignant that he'd missed her, but a slow smile spreading across her face. Tom wondered if he'd ever seen something as beautiful.
"I was discharged this morning," she reached for him, her hand slipping into his. "Present number one."
"A wonderful gift," he murmured, tentatively wrapping an arm around her waist. He'd come so close to losing her, he feared any movement could break her- shattering this delicate familiarity and ripping them apart again.
Hannah seemed to sense his caution, and with a stubborn smile, took his forearm and tightened it around her. "I'm not made of glass, Tom."
That's a terrible analogy.
"And anyway, we've got a lot of stairs to climb to find your second gift."
"Can't it wait?" She smelled good. He'd almost forgotten what it had been like to hold her like this, feeling her body pressed against his, full of life again. He decided he'd miss those the most- the innocent touches, skin on skin simply because they could.
"Have you got other plans?"
"Only ones that involve taking you back to my dorm," he flushed as he said it, hiding a burning cheek against her hair. There was an awful, searing insecurity to him now, anticipating rejection at any moment. It's guilt, he thought absently. Guilt lingers.
Hannah brushed a loose strand of dark hair from his face. "Birthday first, then I'll do anything you like."
He felt that familiar ache, desire stirring there. I want you to make this easier for us both, I want you to hate me again.
*
She led him all the way to Dippet's office, valiantly ignoring the pain Tom was certain she still felt. It showed in moments where Hannah would lean on him a little harder, or suck in a shaky breath as they climbed higher through the castle.
"Breaking and entering?" He raised a playful eyebrow.
She grinned as they slipped through the door, shrugging off the irritated grunts from the portraits. Dippet's office was just as quaint as Tom remembered it to be, but Hannah didn't waste any time admiring it- she was focused, dragging something heavy to the centre of the room.
A pensieve.
"There's something I want you to see," she began, a vulnerability in her voice that hadn't been there before. "From when I was recovering. I dreamed a lot, with all that sleep. One dream, actually, for what felt like years- but you need to see it."
Hannah produced a small glass vial from the inside of her robes, tipping it into the basin of the pensieve. It glowed softly, pulsing with a gentle silver light.
Wordlessly, he tilted his head, his eyes catching on swirling figures as her dreams began to form around him.
*
He found himself in a kitchen. White bricked, with deep mahogany beams stretching across the ceiling. A pot stirred itself on the stove, the spoon twirling in lazy circles as it simmered.
There were photographs on the walls. In one, the tiny Hannah was lifting a laughing baby, both silently beaming at each other. In another, Tom faintly recognised himself- older, a smile on his face as he playfully lifted a hand to block the camera. He couldn't bring himself to look at the third.
She'd appeared now, peering into the pot, oblivious to his presence. Her hair was much longer, almost reaching her waist, with a single daisy tucked behind her ear. A child clung to her, deftly balancing him on one hip as she hummed, reaching to turn the page of a cookbook with her free hand.
Sunlight streamed through the bay windows, bathing the scene in a warm orange glow. It was only then that Tom noticed the telltale glint of silver on her finger- two rings shone there, a small, clear jewel on the first that seemed to flicker with its own light.
This is cruel, he wanted to say, don't make me watch any more. But he was frozen to the spot, unable to tear his eyes away as a version of himself strolled through the door.
He was wearing a suit. His hair combed smoothly, setting his wand down as he took the child in his arms, swinging him up in the air. The baby laughed, his little fingers tangling in Tom's hair. Hannah was pouring something- wine, it looked like, the contentment on her face sending such a wave of sadness through him that it took his breath away.
What we could've had.
In the dream, Tom was kissing her now, both laughing as the child gave a wail of protest. "I missed you today," she whispered, and he watched himself place a tender hand on her cheek.
"I'm home now," he heard his voice murmur.
That's enough. I can't bear it.
Tom dragged himself back, back into Dippet's office, gasping in as much air as his lungs could take. Hannah observed him, silently chewing her lip.
It's just a dream, he wanted to say. We can't have any of it, that won't ever be us.
But all that came out was a strangled noise, halfway between a sob and a 'thank you.'
YOU ARE READING
HUNGER.
Fanfiction"I'm not scared of you." "Is that a challenge?" ---- Tom Riddle was bored. Luckily for him, the last thing Hannah Grey could be called is boring. They find cat and mouse is just as entertaining for them both- though they aren't quite sure who is who...
