Guests
Tom ran down the stairs the following morning, newly completed model airplane in hand. He planned on spending his morning exploring the grounds before the guests arrived, so he could show the other children around — mostly so he’d know where he could best torment them if necessary.
Those plans changed when he reached the first floor and skidded to a halt at the sight of a girl.
She had to be around his age, as she was close to his height and wasn’t feminine in any way beyond the fact that she was wearing a dress. Her hair was a raucous mountain of curls, and her nose was smattered with freckles. Tom noted she also had a book tucked under her arm, which meant she would not likely be willing to go outside and play with him.
“Hullo,” Tom greeted, wanting her to pay attention to him and quit wandering around the entryway. She jumped slightly, eyes bugging at the sight of him.
“Oh, hello,” she said upon recovering. “You must be Mr. Riddle’s son.”
“Yes, I’m Tom,” he confirmed for her. “And who are you? Dad didn’t say anything about girls coming to the house.” His nose wrinkled slightly for dramatic effect. The unnamed girl crossed her arms over her chest and huffed.
“I’m Hermione,” she provided. “My dad went to school with your dad, and as such... I was brought along.”
“Really?” Tom drawled. “And here I thought you were going to be the new kitchen maid?”
Hermione’s jaw dropped, which was just the reaction Tom wanted. He made his way past her into the sitting room, bumping into her as he did with his shoulder, only to wade into a cloud of cigar smoke. Judging by the polluted air, it would seem that his father’s friends had all arrived in the morning, and not the afternoon like Tom thought they would.
“Tom?” Tom Sr. sighed. “What are you doing in here? The rest or the boys are outside playing a pick-up game of rugby. You ought to go join them.”
“Bloody hell, Tommy,” a rather plump man standing beside his father exclaimed. “Your boy looks just like you. Looks the same as you did when we first met at Harrow.” This observation caused some of the other men to make similar comments, but Tom ignored them all and stared up at his father.
“Hermione can’t play rugby, though, father,” he pointed out. “Hermione’s a girl.”
“Hermione can watch,” Tom Sr. huffed. “Now go on! Go play and be a normal ten-year-old boy for once.” Tom’s brow furrowed and he shuffled back out of the sitting room, thankful to be free of the oppressive cigar smoke.
When he emerged, Hermione was sitting on the staircase, reading the book she’d brought.
“What are you reading?” Tom asked as he stood in front of her on the stairs.
“The Hound of the Baskervilles,” Hermione replied without looking up. “Are you always this nosy?”
“No,” was Tom’s short reply. “Come outside. The other boys are playing and I have to play with them.” This made Hermione look up from her book, and Tom noticed that she dog-eared the page like he did. It always made Mrs. Cole mad that he ruined the pages like that, but it felt nice to make a crease in the page, like it was his own special marked page.
“I’m not a boy,” she reminded.
“I know that, I’m not stupid,” Tom scowled. “I meant, you’re going to go outside and watch us all play.”
Now Hermione had set her book aside completely and Tom was hooked. He didn’t know what it was about the girl in particular — maybe it was because she was the first of the children he’d had the chance to interact with — but he could tell that he was going to get hours of amusement going rounds with her until he managed to get her.
“I don’t want to watch a bunch of boys tackle each other into the dirt,” she sniffed.
“I didn’t give you an option,” Tom frowned.
“You’re mean,” Hermione frowned back.
“I can be meaner,” Tom stuck his chin out. Then, as he eyed her defenseless book, he grinned a devilish grin and snatched it up.
“Hey!” Hermione shouted, springing to her feet. “Give that back!”
But Tom had already opened the book and begun to shred the adventures of Holmes and Watson to pieces. Hermione was crying and reaching for her book, shoving at him and making a whole fuss, but that only made Tom tear the pages into tinier pieces.
“Stop, stop, STOP!” Hermione screamed, and on the final word gave him a strong shove. When her fingers touched his back, Tom howled in pain at the feeling; it was as if he’d been struck by lightning. “Give it back, you awful boy!”
The doors to the sitting room had since flown open upon the start of the ruckus and Tom Sr. and a short but slender auburn-haired man were quickly separating the children.
“Daddy,” Hermione sniffled to the man, “Tom stole my book and he tore the pages from it!”
Tom, who was still trying to process what had exactly happened when Hermione had shoved him, was too in shock to deny his guilt.
“You’re going to fix Miss Granger’s book and you’re going to apologize,” Tom Sr. scolded. “And if the book isn’t fixed by supper, you have to let Hermione pick one of your own books to take as compensation. Am I understood?”
Tom nodded, glaring daggers at the girl who was still a slobbery, snotty mess.
When the adults had retreated back to their cigars and brandy, Tom turned on Hermione and grabbed her by the shoulders. “How did you do that?” he questioned. “When you shoved me? How did you shock me?”
Hermione shook her head. “I-I dunno, exactly,” she mumbled. “When I get upset, sometimes I can make strange things happen. Why?”
Instead of explaining to Hermione why he’d asked, Tom focused all his might on the torn pages scattered about the floor. It was going to take a lot of effort — focusing his powers always did — but slowly, the tattered pieces of paper began to flutter and rejoin together, and in a small whirlwind, the book was once again whole. Tom held it out to her.
“How did you-?”
“You’re special,” Tom told her. “Like me. You can make things happen to people when they hurt you. I can too. But I can do other things too, like that. Can you?”
Hermione shuffled her feet. “I changed the color of our cat once,” she admitted.
Tom grinned a little at that and Hermione looked out the window to see the boys roughhousing. She didn’t like the thought of Tom getting in the middle of all that, but she also had a feeling that none of the boys would mess with him after a while.
“Let’s go outside,” Tom motioned to her. Reluctantly, Hermione followed.
While Tom launched himself straight into the heat of battle in the rugby match, Hermione sat on the stoop and watched the boys go back and forth across the lawn until the sun went down. All the other boys ignored her as they marched inside to go to bed, but Tom stopped and stared at her in his weird way.
“Goodnight, Hermione,” he said.
“Goodnight, Tom,” she returned.