Abraxas stifled a yawn as he looked out onto the dancefloor. Purebloods laughed and danced around him. "I can't believe I agreed to this," complained Fleamont.
Abraxas chuckled at his equally bored friend. They may have grown up in this lifestyle but it most certainly did not appeal to them. "We only have to stay for a little while. A small appearance then we can depart from this debacle."
"It certainly is one," chuckled Fleamont in agreement. In all honesty, the party was successful. It was just boring.
Every year, the Malfoys' would throw a party that was exclusively for purebloods. And every year, all but two families would show; the Potters and the Weasleys. This year, Abraxas was able to convince Fleamont Potter to join him. The main reason for this action was so he wouldn't have to suffer alone-and Fleamont provided a much needed comic relief.
"Can we leave now?" Abraxas nodded. "About time," sighed Fleamont.
The two boys brushed past partygoers without having to converse with anyone. They even managed to avoid Parkinson. After crossing the large foyer, they finally made it to the grand staircase.
When they reached the top floor, Fleamont released a whistle. "Blimey, this place is big."
Abraxas shook his head. Sometimes it was easy to forget that others did not live as his family did, even other purebloods.
He led them down the hall, heading toward his room. When he opened the door, Fleamont released another whistle. Abraxas had to agree that his room was something to be impressed with. It was a grand room with a large black iron bed shoved in one corner. An entire wall was made up of a floor-to-ceiling bookcase. Running across the marble flooring was a dark, lush green carpet that matched his silk bedding. In front of the bookcase was a small sitting area.
Abraxas went straight for the small, black chair that sat underneath a window. It felt good to finally be somewhere comfortable. Fleamont wandered over to where Abraxas was sitting with large eyes before taking the seat in front of him.
Fleamont adjusted his position until he was facing the bookcase. He ran his fingers along the tops of the books on one of the lower shelves. "Have you read every one of these?"
"I have." Abraxas grabbed one of his favorite books before sitting back into his seat with his legs crossed. He ran his fingers along the edges of the pages. "Ouch!"
"What?" asked Fleamont, leaning forward in his seat slightly, concern etched onto his features.
Abraxas looked down at his finger. A small sliver was cut into the top of his index finger. A small drop of dark, red blood beaded to the surface of the cut as he looked at it. "I cut myself?" Abraxas muttered in confusion.
"What is that?" Before Abraxas could ask what Fleamont was talking about, the Gryffindor swiped the book from his lap. "There's something in here." Fleamont opened the book to reveal a folded letter. He opened it. "It's in your handwriting."
"What does it say?" asked Abraxas in curiosity. He did not remember placing a letter in that book, or any of his books for that matter. He wondered what was written on it. Fleamont's eyes grew with each passing second. "Well?"
Fleamont looked up at him with confused filled eyes. "You'll have to read it for yourself." He handed the letter to him. Abraxas took it in shaky hands. Why were his hands so unsteady? Did his body know something that his mind did not?
He carefully smoothed out the letter before reading it.
Dear Kathleen,
I know that if I did not write this down then I would smoothly, and confidently avoid the matter. I also believe that you will take my proposal more seriously if it were written down.
Kathleen, you have been the shining light within the darkness ever since I had the pleasure of meeting you. You quickly became my friend and my confidant, my co conspirator and my rock. You are my light, my hope. You have given me the pleasure of allowing me to pursue you, though you would deny it.
I have always known that just pursuing you will not be enough. I wish for your hand in marriage and pray that you will say yes, hopefully without slapping me. Falling into my arms with tears of joy will work just fine.
From your (hopefully) future husband.
What the bloody hell? Why didn't he remember writing this love sick nonsense? And why the bloody hell could he not remember being close to Kathleen?
"When did you write this and how come I don't remember you being close with Kathleen?" asked Fleamont.
He couldn't answer his friend because he didn't know himself. "I don't know," Abraxas whispered. "Why don't I remember?" his voice broke.
"Do you think someone made you forget? Made us forget?"
Why would anyone erase their memories? Abraxas' hand balled into a fist, crushing the handwritten letter. He didn't know why anyone would erase his memory but he will find a way to undo the spell. One way or another, he will regain his lost memories.
. . . . .
"Stop that." Hermione swatted at Tom's fingers which were fiddling with the hem of her skirt. He slapped her hand away and growled against her neck. "Tom, I said stop it."
Tom leaned up from where he was crouched over top of her. One hand was still near her skirt while the other one was bracing him against the sofa. "You can't just let me have a taste of you then deny me afterwards," growled Tom.
"Yes. I. Can. It is perfectly within my rights to refuse you." She placed her hands on his chest then motioned for him to get off of her. Tom complied with a frustrated sigh. "Besides, Fleamont and Abraxas are due back any minute. I would like to greet them. Plus it is our responsibility as Head Boy and Head Girl." Tom gave her a look that told her she was right.
Much more slowly than necessary, Tom pulled himself up off the couch. He stared at her the entire time while making his way to his room. The hungry glint in his eyes was unmistakable. Who knew that Tom Riddle would turn out to be just like all the other boys their age.
Hermione patted down her skirt in an attempt to straighten it. She then rose from the couch and made her way to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror showed that her hair was a complete mess thanks to Tom running his fingers through it. She uttered a spell that instantly fixed and smoothed out her curls until they were beautiful ringlets. She was really grateful to Tom for sharing that spell with her.
She exited the bathroom, pleased with her appearance, and waited for Tom near the entryway. He walked out of his room wearing the dark-blue knitted sweater that she had gotten him as a late birthday present, and a pair of slacks. Hermione's heart fluttered when she saw that he hadn't fixed his hair.
"Ready?" asked Hermione. Tom nodded and offered her his arm. They made their way down to the school's entrance arm-in-arm.
Carriages were already pulling up to the front gates. Returning students chatted eagerly amongst themselves.
Hermione raised up onto her tiptoes, hoping to find signs of their returning comrades. "I don't see them," said Tom, having a height advantage.
As they waited for their friends, Tom and Hermione decided to do their job and help the returning students with their luggage. Simply put, they took the lazy way out and used magic to return the luggage to their rightful destinations.
They didn't find their friends until the last carriage pulled up. "About time," said Tom, loud enough for them to hear.
Fleamont looked up and shook his head, causing Tom and Hermione to pause on their way to them. Hermione didn't know why Fleamont would shoot them a warning, not until she saw Abraxas.
Abraxas looked up. A small smile appeared on his lips when he saw her. The smile disappeared and hatred flashed through his grey eyes when he saw Tom beside her. Hermione's heart turned to ice when she realized what had happened. "Tom, you should leave."
"No. It will be better to face this head on instead of letting his anger and despair grow." Hermione released a sigh, knowing that Tom was right. She straightened her shoulders but did not move from her spot. Tom did the opposite. He moved toward the two in the carriage.
Abraxas jumped down to land in front of Tom. "I should hex you where you stand," snarled Abraxas. Tom didn't say anything, he just stood there. "Say something!"
"I'm sorry," said Tom as he looked Abraxas straight in the eye.
Hermione moved forward. "How did your memories return?"
When Abraxas said nothing, Fleamont answered for him. "We found a proposal letter he had written to Miss Prewitt. After that, we found someone who could reverse the spell on us."
"Us?" Asked Hermione in puzzlement. She knew that Abraxas had erased Kathleen from his memories but she had no clue that Fleamont had suffered the same fate. It explained why he never brought up the subject when Abraxas wasn't around.
"Dippet erased the other students' memories so that they wouldn't recklessly say something in front of you or Abraxas," answered Tom.
"You knew?" asked Hermione. Why would the headmaster do that instead of fixing Abraxas. Was he afraid that Abraxas would do something stupid like she had been when he first performed the spell?
"I asked him to. So that this idiot-" Tom jerked his chin to the furious boy in front of him, "-wouldn't do something foolish."
Abraxas narrowed a silvery gaze onto Tom. "You don't have to worry anymore." He shoved past Tom. "I'm no longer his friend but if you need me, I'll be there," he told Hermione. With that, he stormed into the school, never looking back.
"What about you?" Tom asked Fleamont.
Fleamont shrugged his shoulders before jumping down from the carriage. "I'm undecided." Then he too disappeared into the school.
"Well, that turned out unexpectedly," sighed Tom as he turned toward her.
It did and it didn't. Hermione knew that those two were not supposed to be team Voldemort. It was only a matter-of-time before things turned out like this.
Tom grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. "Sorry."
"As long as you never return to who you were, then you don't have to apologize."
Tom gave her a half smirk before squeezing her hand again. "I guess now you have more time for me."
"I guess," drawled Hermione. She was sad that she was possibly losing two of her closest friends but she knew it had to have happened sooner or later. She just wished that it had been later, not sooner.
"We should probably inform grandfather." To her surprise, Tom agreed with her.