Harry Potter : Chapter 62: Courting Danger I

The sun described a strange pattern with the shadows cast by the trees across the ground, while the breeze made the grass sway lightly.

Marie sat in a wicker chair placed on a stretch of green grass, huddled in clothes that hung slightly too large on her frame as he stared dully forward: under a cypress tree that wasn't there the day before, just at the edge of the forest, there was a rectangular slab of stone nestled among the roots.

"Paul D'Aboville." she read the name on the tombstone with a hollow voice, as well as the dates that contained the entirety of his life between the years 1910 and 1943.

It seemed ridiculous that something as absurd as becoming a werewolf, and following changes brought in his life, could be squeezed into a handful of years. Maybe he'd have hated to be buried on foreign soil, Marie would never know.

It had been difficult to believe. From the existence of magic, to the fact that clearly not all wizards or witches were demons, to the much more real and painfully presence of Lycanthropy.

It had been difficult to believe, it still was, in many ways, but it couldn't be denied. Marie let out a shuddering breath as her eyes didn't move from the tombstone, her mind far away as she tried to make a sense of her life.

Would she too die with no warning at the next full moon? Would she go mad and remain as the monster she held within forevermore? The beast that she could feel clawing just under her ribs in the days before the full moon?

The part of her that loved meat that had barely been cooked, the part that made her head whip about when her nose picked up some scent she didn't recognize on the air?

Paul had almost never been an easy man to be around: he was rough, uncaring, and felt like the world owed him for the disaster that his life had become. But he had been there, he had been with her when the monsters, monsters like she was now, attacked in the night, he had tried to fight back despite the paralyzing terror. And more importantly, he had been there through all that followed.

With every full moon, they had shared agony and helplessness. With every new moon, they faced anew the terrible reality of their situation along with the lingering pain of the transformation. And with every discussion that got somewhat heated, as sharing such a big house with Paul had never been a cakewalk, they had shared the beast within stirring viciously.

Would anyone care if, with the nexi t full moon, she died too? Would it matter? More to the point: did Marie herself care about it? It wasn't like she had something to live for: her life had ended in France, and whatever came later had only been an eternal purgatory.

She hugged herself and held tight, as it only her arms were preventing her from falling apart, only for the breeze to carry new sounds to her sharp hearing. Hagrid was talking and walking in this direction, with another much quieter set of steps following him.

"What, did you think I would have found you an apartment in Diagon Alley?" Rubeus snorted disdainfully, "I'm not made of money Tom. Besides," he added with audible smugness in his voice, "you asked to get out of London, and Diagon is in the middle of it."

"You know perfectly well what I meant." the stranger's voice reached Marie, and she held back a grimace as she recalled Rubeus' words from a few days before. Necessity and circumstances that she had largely ignored meant that the house would gain both the unnaturally tall man and another wizard as residents for every summer, at least for a couple of years.

"And I have delivered." some seriousness returned to the deep rumble that was Hagrid's voice: "A 15-year-old kid on his own every summer would draw attention."

Marie took a deep breath and planted her feet on the grass, raising from her seated position and walking back to the house proper, distractedly noticing that the vegetable garden was filled to the brim once more and that she'd need to take the ripe vegetables before long, while the breeze kept carrying forth the words of the two wizards.

"I can be inconspicuous." the stranger spoke.

"I still don't care." Hagrid replied dismissively, "This is a good, out-of-the-way place that will not draw attention."

Marie walked out from the corner made of bricks that Paul had spent weeks freeing from the moss, and she pushed through the hollow pain that throbbed in her chest to meet the newcomer.

"Ah, there she is." Rubeus spoke calmly, as if afraid to spook her as he slowly turned sideways: "Marie, this is Tom Riddle, Tom, this is Marie Moulin."

"A pleasure," the boy that walked up to her to shake her hand smiled softly, even if she didn't miss the somewhat tense posture of his shoulders, "thank you for looking after Rubeus, he can be an oaf from time to time."

Marie darted her eyes towards the taller wizard who shrugged with a single shoulder, while his shirt moved enough to reveal pristine bandages on his other one. She approximated a brittle smile as her mind went over to the explanation she received for Paul's death, only to quickly blink away the tears that threatened to jump out.

When Rubeus had explained the events of the last full moon, she had wanted to hate him. But it was impossible to miss his wounded status, the thing that proved that he had been willing to put himself in danger to seek out a cure, and it was undeniable that neither she nor Paul would have managed any semblance of civilized life if left in France on their own.

"A pleasure." she echoed the young wizard's greeting before turning sharply on her heel and beginning once more the routing needed to keep the house in order.

She moved as if she was observing her body from outside, the movements she had performed for years at this point coming automatically while she fell into a daze.

She didn't want to think, and while there'd be time for a warmer introduction, her heart simply wasn't in it. Was it truly so necessary to bring a stranger in her home not even a week after the death of Paul?

Tom observed the woman stiff retreat with an arched eyebrow only to turn towards Rubeus: "You know, normal people at least feign to feel sorrow when the loved ones of someone else die."

It was impossible not to notice how he had taken Hagrid's words on the night of the full moon and twisted them as if a knife already buried in the taller wizard's gut.

Hagrid rumbled an incomprehensible answer under his breath and made his way to a large wooden table set on one side of the courtyard, sitting on a stump of wood that clearly acted as a stool for the tall Slytherin while he cradled his head between his hands.

"I'm not very good with people, I help with facts, actions, not words."

"Were you ever meaning to tell me about her condition?" Riddle asked sardonically as he took a place on the bench placed on one side of the table, "Or was I going to discover it on the first night of the full moon?"

"You've figured it out already, uh?" Hagrid didn't move, and so he missed the smug expression on the Slytherin prefect's face.

"You appeared on my floor with a cursed wound on your back that only a specific brew managed to seal." Tom started to list the elements that he put together.

"I saw the older scars that you have on your other side, I know that your main project is that impossible cure, and I recognized the signs on her, of course."

The taller wizard simply sighed tiredly, but he remained in silence.

"I'm still waiting for my explanation, remember?" Riddle pressed him, leaning on his elbows

"Wouldn't you prefer to have a look around first?" his words were muffled by his hands, but he already had a defeated tone.

"I'm sure that I'll enjoy passing here my summers until I can find my own place. But now I think I'll hear exactly what happened." Riddle grinned, and as it often happened, his expression was sharp and hungry.

"It didn't escape me that in the Rùnda there aren't notes on your personal study of Lycanthropy, merely a compendium of what can be discovered within the tomes already present in Hogwarts."

"Why would you care?" again, the tone was muffled by the tall Slytherin hands, but the defeated tone had simply shifted to a tired one while Hagrid's large shoulders moved with his deep breaths.

"Because you landed in my room in a ball of fire, bleeding out." Riddle's voice was jolly despite the topic, "Because I don't believe you made no headway on that project. Because I think that the two events are linked, because..."

The Slytherin prefect stopped at the raised hand of the much taller wizard, who was eyeing the other from under a fringe of messy, dark hair. The two looked each other in the eyes for several seconds.

Hagrid was completely serious, while Tom didn't bother hiding his eagerness: "Who knows, maybe my insight can help. As if that was exactly the reason why we've built the Rùnda."

A familiar grimace appeared on Hagrid's features, and he immediately tried to deflect: "It's kind of illegal, and you can't..."

"Rubeus." Riddle cut him off, "You almost died doing some of your obscure research: it'd be a pity if you left your mortal coil before delivering the cure you promised to Marie, wouldn't it?"

The taller wizard straightened on his stump while he crossed his arms over his chest, unimpressed: "You mean that my death would cause a lack of extraordinary insight in topics that interest you even tangentially."

Riddle smiled unapologetically and waited for the story of how the usually bright younger wizard had managed to end up dying at Wool's.

Slowly, haltingly, and surely with several pieces censured, the younger wizard began to talk, while one of his hands placed a broken disk of iron etched with runes on the table, his dark eyes never leaving the hungry ones of Riddle:

"To overcome Lycanthropy, a werewolf needs a Hunt capable of pushing the beast to satisfaction, something capable of drawing the humanity back to the fore."

"I know that I've commented before on the curious holes in your knowledge, Hagrid." the voice of the Slytherin prefect was perfectly even while his mind rushed through the information he had just been given:

"And I've wondered more than once how much of what you acted upon was mere speculation instead of an actual understanding of the magic involved.

With this event, you answered to both my interrogatives: for all of your talent in several fields, you're actually just lucky with not having died already, aren't you?"

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