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Chapter Text

It’s true that the last thing she thought about as she took her dying breath was him. 

Him who stood before her, hand stretched out behind a flash of green. Wielding that splinter of pain— that sting of betrayal. 

The pain, however, was slight in comparison to what she had always expected. And yet it was nothing more than a pinch— a slight shock. 

Because the pain was far overshadowed by relief. 

Relief know that it would be his arms that she would die in, as she had always hoped. 

Relief to know that it really didn’t hurt that bad.

Relief that there was peace. 

Yes, those were her very last thoughts.

But before that, before the flash of green and those seven syllables, was another thought.

Grief stricken, that history would not remember her.

No, he would be sure of that.

She would not be remembered for aiding the Dark Lord's rise to power. 

Perhaps, she would not even be remembered as simply another casualty of his reign. 

Her name would be somewhere beside his among the Hogwarts graduating class of 1945. 

But within the pages of history, her name would be lost within a sea of the dead.

He would make sure of that.

He would keep her name for himself.

And she would haunt him for it.

For in the end, a snake cannot gently hold a mouse. 

Trigger Warnings

- graphic depictions of violence

- explicit sexual content, all consensual

- Blood prejudice

- Major character death

- Torture

- Bullying

- Murder

- Mentions of struggle with body image, minor disordered eating

- Drug and Substance Abuse

  | 𝐌𝐲𝐫𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐄𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐡 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧 |

| 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 |

𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5rDkuPuKpp2auEvGc7JBwB?si=jq0vpo04RzelsCrdDcOFYg

Chapter Text

𝐇𝐨𝐠𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐫𝐲, 𝟏𝟗𝟒𝟑

She liked to read, but that wasn't the reason she spent all her time in the library. That was all thanks to Olive Hornby.

Surprisingly enough, Elizabeth had once upon a time been quite fond of Olive. The red-headed girl had stumbled into her compartment and invited herself in that very first day on the Hogwarts Express. She was outgoing and friendly—and had even explained some of the magical customs to her during the train ride. 

For a brief moment, Elizabeth entertained the notion that she may have met her very first friend. That all fell away the moment Olive was sorted into Ravenclaw and sat next to Augustine Selwyn.

From then on, the pair had made it their life's mission to make hers a living hell. Whatever the reason.

Her glasses too thick, her hair too straight and bland, her skin too pale. When they discovered her given first name, they refused to call her anything but Myrtle. This was perhaps worst of all.

 But in general, she was simply too ugly for their decency. And they never let her forget it.

It was not until later that she realized the root of their evil must have been due to her blood status. But for a girl of 11, she simply couldn't understand that. 

By the end of that first week, their constant harassment had forced her to seek refuge in the library. Olive Hornby hated the library, calling it "ghastly" and "dull." But Madam Inkwell was also a stickler for silence. And there was nothing Elizabeth craved more than a bit of silence.

After two weeks of hiding away between the stacks of the library any moment she could, Madam Inkwell finally dropped a stack of books in front of her.

"If you are going to live here, you might as well do a bit of work."

And thus began her volunteer post as aide to the librarian.

She mostly walked around holding stacks of books, mindlessly reshelving them with a slight flick of her wand. Occasionally, a first or second year would ask for her help locating a particular book and she was happy to help. But beyond that her work was one of solitude and quiet.

Madam Inkwell was very warm towards her, and grateful for the extra help. Whenever she prepared tea, she always left a cup out for Elizabeth.

Two sugars, no milk. Just the way she liked it.

If there was no work for her, she worked on her studies. And when she had finished her studies, she read some more. 

And then some more. 

Madam Inkwell often teased her that she was more well-read that even she was, and that maybe Elizabeth ought to take her place as librarian.

"Goodness, this shipment has just arrived from Diagon Alley. Several collections of..." She adjusted her glasses farther down nose to read the title of the book in her hands better. "A Practical Guide to the Identification and Classification of Dragons by Elias Flockhart. Quite a mouthful of a title, and not very practical at all if there are 7 volumes."

Madam Inkwell placed the book back into the box.

"Have them stamped, and then you know where they go."

Elizabeth nodded, "Of course."

She set to work charming the books to one by one open in front of her, receive a stamp, and then float to their appropriate place in the Dragon Section. 

It was dark outside, but she could still hear the flow of students still wandering back from dinner. The library was mostly empty aside from a few lone pupils sleepily hunched over rolls of parchment. She suspected that by next month, the library would begin to fill as fifth and seventh years began studying for O.W.L.S and N.E.W.T.S. Or at least that had been her observation over the years.

This year, her fifth one, she would be among those students. 

When the box had finally emptied and all the books had been shelved, Madam Inkwell insisted she head back to her dorm for the night. Elizabeth begrudgingly followed her orders and pulled on her grey uniform sweater. It was still very cold in Scotland at the end of march, and the castle corridors were unforgiving. She gathered her things and bid Madam Inkwell a good night, leaving the library unaware of the dark eyes that watched her every move with intent.

‡‡‡

Tom Riddle fancied himself an excellent judge of character. Simply by looking at someone, he knew what kind of person they were, and exactly how they might suit his needs.

At the orphanage, he had used this talent to find the weaknesses of the other children and establish himself at the top of the social hierarchy. Despite the keen hatred he felt for his never-ending time at Wool's, it had been the perfect training ground.

After all, manipulation is just a steppingstone to getting things done. And there was nothing Tom loved more than productivity.

He observed the girl with calculated interest, measuring all he could from her movements and habits. He was upset with himself for not noticing her sooner. Of course, he was aware of her by name. Elizabeth Warren, the muggle-born girl second in her marks only to him. 

It disgusted him.

But for several weeks now she had been his entire focus. Tom spent plenty of time in the library, he was of course top of his class and intended to keep it that way. However, his studies had increased as he attempted to do a bit of research.

He was a prefect and able to access parts of the Restricted Section. But it did not escape him that there were books that were missing. Initially, he thought that a disillusionment charm might have been used, but this theory proved fruitless. He had spent hours wandering the library in search of hidden compartments, charmed shelves, or secret backrooms. But he found nothing. 

Asking for guidance from a professor or even Madam Inkwell was the last thing he wanted to do. No, a teacher would only be alarmed by his requests and further deter him from what he desired. But there was someone who just might be able to help him. 

Someone like her.

He just had to wait for the right moment.

A predator slowly reaching for his prey, waiting for the perfect moment to attack. 

Chapter Text

Elizabeth sat in the third row of her Defense Against the Dark Arts class. It was the perfect place for one to go unnoticed, and yet still be able to see the board alright. Her nearsightedness was terrible, but she hated to wear her glasses whenever it wasn't necessary in order to avoid harassment from Olive.

The front row also happened to be where Olive, Augustine, and Ravenclaw prefect, Joan Dyer sat.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Elizabeth thoroughly enjoyed Professor Merrythoughts class. She was passionate, highly knowledgeable, and hadn't yet made them duel.

She also only called on Elizabeth when she raised her hand, which she also appreciated. Unlike charms, she figured that these would be useful spells to know, and so she always tried to pay attention.

And despite this perfect setup, she couldn’t escape the feeling of being watched. 

She felt eyes on her as she walked from class to class, when she shelved books in the library, while she studied, and while she walked back to her dorm through the cold corridors alone.

She blamed it all on paranoia and did her best to ignore it. But she was beginning to feel as if she were going mad. It was the worst in DADA.

"Hexes can be a nasty business, and breaking the effects of a hex can be painstaking. One must follow the steps with precision and accuracy, otherwise the hex may seep to other areas of the body. Hex breaking is an excellent profession and one that you should certainly consider, St. Mungos is always in serach of such talented witches and wizard," Professor Merrythought smiled at the class. Her blonde, coiled hair was styled in a halo around her head, making her appear younger than she was.

 She clapped her hands together, "Now! If you remember correctly, I asked you all to do a bit of reading on a certain hex deflector, Propulsare Negans. Who can tell me a bit about what our textbook said?"

Elizabeth raised her hand and Professor Merrythought quickly caught her eye. "Ms. Warren! Go ahead..."

 "Propulsare Negans is a hex zapper that works by both warding off and destroying negative energy, and then attracting positive ones. It should be the first reaction when one sees a hex coming towards them or another."

Professor Merrythought beamed, "Excellent! And exactly true. Hex breaking is such a tedious process, which is why it is so important to avoid being hit by a hex in the first place. Propulsare Negans is no simple spell, however, I believe all of you are capable."

 A piece of chalk began writing out the spell on the chalk board: P-R-O-P-U-L-S-A-R-E   N-E-G-A-N-S

"Anyone familiar with their Latin willing to tell me the translation of this spell?" 

Elizabeth raised her hand, but Professor Merrythought instead turned to a boy sat at the front of the room.

"Tom, why don't you tell us? Your Latin is excellent."

"You flatter me, Professor." 

Professor Merrythought turned slightly pink at the tops of her cheeks.

"To ward off the negative, is the direct translation I believe. Very fitting." He continued.

"Wonderful! 5 points to Slytherin. To ward off the negative. Now, lets talk about the wand motion accompanied with such a spell. Wands out every one!"

Elizabeth scowled at the back of Tom Riddle's head. She despised that boy.

He was top of their class, Slytherin prefect. Absolutely adored by everyone. Teachers never had enough to say about him. Girls swooned whenever he entered a room. He was attractive, she could admit that—and smart too. But she didn't think that made him an idol. What made certain people more acceptable to society than others? She hated every bit of it. 

She didn't want to be top of her class, there was too much pressure associated with a position like that. She was perfectly content with second place, so there was no academic competition on her end. But that didn't mean she didn't hate the favouritism he was afforded on occasion.

‡‡‡

Elizabeth watched as Estella Lovegood poured a bit of creamer into her pumpkin juice.

"I'm telling you, Elizabeth. It makes it so much better. Pumpkin on its own simply isn't sweet enough. This makes it creamier." The Blonde girl shoved the cup of juice and cream toward her. "Go on, have a sip."

Elizabeth gave her a narrow look, then lifted the cup to her lips and tried it. Much to her dismay, it was quite good. She wasn't an avid pumpkin juice drinker, but this might just do the trick. 

She pushed the drink back toward her friend. "Alright, I admit. It's quite good."

Estella smiled brightly, "I told you! I'll never drink anything else." She began to quickly drink down the rest until she came to an abrupt stop. She hunched over sputtering and coughing, wiping the droplets of juice from her mouth.

"Oh, don't look. Don't look." She hissed, eyes glancing carefully at a place behind Elizabeth.

Elizabeth turned and looked.

"Elizabeth!" Estella cried in a hushed voice. "I said not to look..."

The focus of her friends worries was standing at the entrance. 6th year Hufflepuff, George Abbott— whom Estella had been helplessly in love with since their 3rd year.

Elizabeth laughed, "Estella, you two have been friends since 1st year. And he's probably the nicest boy in the entire school. Just... ask him if he wants to go to Hogsmeade next month."

Estella paled. "Ask him? Oh no, no. I couldn't do that. The boy has got to be the one to ask."

"Says who?" Elizabeth pressed.

"Well... well I suppose you're right. But he would never say yes. And I don't want to ruin our friendship."

"There's no commitment in going to Hogsmeade together. You'll just go as friends,  the two of you. Get to know each other... share a butter beer perhaps." Elizabeth winked.

"Oh Merlin," Estella squealed as she shoved her plate of toast away.

"Hello girls," George sat down beside Estella with a smile. His light brown hair fluffy and brown eyes still clouded with sleep.

He looked down at the contents of the cup in front of Estella.

"Have you put creamer in your pumpkin juice?" He asked with a disgusted look.

The blonde tried to hide her embarrassment by tilting her chin up and nodding, "Yes, and it's quite good. I won't hear any negative remarks about it until you've tried it. Just ask Elizabeth."

George turned to Elizabeth, eyebrows raised as he awaited confirmation.

"It's actually pretty good." She agreed.

George shrugged and took a sip. He hummed as he placed it back down at the table and licked his upper lip.

"Hmm, it seems I have been proven wrong. My apologies, Madam Lovegood." He looked at her with a smirk.

Estella wobbled.

"Have you got a match today?" Elizabeth asked, referring to the yellow quidditch robes he wore and attempting to give her friends poor heart a break.

 George was a keeper for the Hufflepuff quidditch team, and a good one at that. Hufflepuff had never seen so many wins since he joined the team, or so he claimed.

The boy's face lit up at the mention of the game, "Yeah! We've got Gryffindor tonight. Lookin to be a tough game, a windy one too."

He looked over at Estella, "Will you come?"

"Yes!" Estella said, a bit to hastily. She cleared her throat and repeated herself more calmly. "Yes, we'll be there."

"Great! Wonderful! Alright, well...I'll see you there then." He stood from the table, beaming a bit before making his way over to the rest of the Hufflepuff quidditch team.

Estella watched him for a moment too long before looking back over at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth only shook her head, "If you asked him to go to Hogsmeade with you, I think his response would look a little something like what just happened."

Estella's eyes went wide.

A few hours later Elizabeth found herself in a sweater, thick stockings, heavy jacket, scarf, hat, and gloves: shivering on the side lines of the stadium as Estella jumped up and down beside her.

Elizabeth would have preferred to stay in the library all day. Watching a quidditch match in the freezing rain and wind was the last thing she wanted to do. But Estella would have never let her live it down, and Madam Inkwell assured her that there was absolutely nothing she could do to help. 

At least she had cast a warming charm on the blanket they had laid over the bench.

Hufflepuff and Gryffindor were tied 170 to 170. It had been close the entire game, with both teams at their very best despite the weather. She watched as a Hufflepuff chaser threw the quaffle through the highest goal post. Students and teachers alike leapt from their seats in a fit of cheers.

Ravenclaw boy Dane Lancaster's voice sounded throughout the stadium, "Hufflepuff chaser Leander Bags scores! 10 points to Hufflepuff, Hufflepuff takes the lead at 180 to 170!"

"Oh merlin, Hufflepuff better win. I don't know if I could bare the look on George's face if they lose to Gryffindor. He's been training so hard to try and beat them." Estella muttered as she sat back down, tucking her mitten covered hands under her arms and shivering.

Dane Lancaster's commentary continued as the game moved on, "Gryffindor's Astrid Appleby has got the quaffle! Beautiful flying and immense speed. And she's headed for the shot–"

Both girls leapt from their seats, Estella screaming at the top of her lungs. "Block her, George! BLOCK HER!"

 George dove with his broom and narrowly hit the quaffle away, protecting the goal.

"–and INCREDIBLE! A powerful block from Hufflepuff keeper, George Abbott. Protecting the Hufflepuff lead."

The crowd cheered, no one louder than the high-pitched squeals of Estella.

George reared his broom to face them, waving and smiling down at the two girls, but his eyes focused entirely on Estella.

Estella turned towards her, "Did you see that? He was incredible! Absolutely wonderful."

Elizabeth only laughed.

"Current game time stands at 1 hour and 7 minutes, if either team can catch the–and what's this we see! It seems as if Gryffindor seeker Oliver Potter has spotted something! Hufflepuff seeker James Barry is not far behind him! It appears they have both spotted the golden snitch! Catching the golden snitch in this weather won't be easy! They're neck and neck, who will be the one to take the lead–"

The rest of Lancaster's commentary was drowned out by the collective cheering, crying, and booing of the stadium as the Gryffindor seeker held up his fist in victory, golden snitch in hand.

Estella and Elizabeth both collapsed back onto the bench in disappointment. A few tears fell from Estella's crystal blue eyes as she watched George's disappointment from afar. She lay her head on Elizabeth's shoulder, "I can't believe it. We were so close. He'll be so disappointed."

 Elizabeth put her arm around her in an effort to console her. "You know George, Stell. Of course he'll be upset, but then he'll take the loss and use it to make the team better. He's like that."

Estella sat up and brushed her eyes, "You're right. Oh gosh we'd ought to get back to the common room quickly. We could make some hot chocolate for the team. I'm sure their freezing."

 Elizabeth didn't have the heart to tell her that they were probably colder than the players, who had been exercising for the last hour instead of sitting.

Chapter Text

Headmaster Dippet stood before the students at breakfast that morning, students who were tired and still reeling from the disappointment of the following days quidditch match. Even the Gryffindor table looked hungover. 

"As many of you are aware, I'm sure, there is a Hogsmeade trip this Saturday. As always, the expectations remain the same and I expect the utmost behavior from all of you. That is all."

Headmaster Dippet was a funny little man. He often enjoyed wandering the corridors and smiling at the students. And on occasion, you could hear him playing little tunes on his flute.

As his speech concluded, hushed chatter erupted throughout the room as students began to discuss their plans for visiting Hogsmeade.

"Want to go?" Estella asked suddenly.

 It caught Elizabeth so off guard that at first, she thought Estella were referencing her and not the boy who sat beside her, whose head lay down on the table.

He lifted his head to look at the girl with tired eyes. "What?"

Elizabeth watched as the blonde swallowed nervously, her brown eyes looking everywhere except at George.

"You heard me. Want to go?" She said with a voice of false confidence.

"To Hogsmeade?"

"Yes."

"With you?" His eyes widened.

Estella grew more nervous, Elizabeth knew she was wringing her hands under the table. "...yes."

"With just... you?"

"Well-yes."

A grin spread across the boy's face, you would never know he had been heartbroken only moments before.

"Alright," he said cheerily. "Yeah, sure."

Estella looked caught off guard, having to do a double take when she finally looked at him. "Really?"

"Yeah, It'll be fun!"

"Oh... well good! Great!"

"I'll meet you in the courtyard. 8:30, prompt."

Estella nodded quickly.

"You're not going, Elizabeth?" George asked her.

"I'm not sure yet, I guess it will just depend. But either way, you two had ought to go off on your own." She said with a small smirk as she looked between her friends.

‡‡‡

As much as she enjoyed learning about magical creatures, Professor Kettleburns class tended to stress her out. Today, a bowtruckle had stabbed the professor in the cheek with its branches after he had spent the entire class chasing it around. His check had bled quite a lot, and the class had been let out early. She felt terrible for the poor man, he always seemed to be getting hurt. But he was so young and passionate, she understood why he stuck around.

The 12-inch essay on why the handling of bowtruckles is so tricky was much more her speed.

The library had been very busy that day, filled with students attempting to get their schoolwork done early in the week before their trip to Hogsmeade. But she still found time to finish the essay before packing up for the day. She reshelved the scattered books that students had left lying out, and secured the locks on the restricted section.

Madam Inkwell sat at her desk, glasses pushed high on her nose as she hunched over a book.

"I'm headed out for the night, Madam Inkwell." Elizabeth said in a hushed voice. "Anything I can get you before I leave?"

"Oh goodness, no. Someone's charmed these books, made it look like they returned them on time when they in fact did not." She pulled her glasses off and looked up at Elizabeth. "I'll be here a while longer–might need Albus's help. Goodnight my dear."

Elizabeth wished her a goodnight and headed out.

It was well after dinner, and for the most part everyone had returned to their dorms and common rooms for the night. As she walked, she fished out her copy of Fantastic Beast and Where to Find Them from the canvas bag slung over her shoulder. She flipped through the pages looking to finish reading up on bowtruckles, but an image caught her eye. She turned back a few pages until she found it.

Basilisk

A striking image of a large serpent with long fangs and golden yellow eyes accompanied the text. As a child she had always been terrified of snakes, just the sight of them made her skin crawl. She would have nightmares that hundreds of snakes were sliding over her skin and wake up in a cold sweat. She had never heard of such a creature before and would have preferred it stay that way.

The image moved just slightly showing the way the serpent moved. She inhaled sharply and snapped the book shut.

She would have to read something else for a while before going to bed to avoid nightmares.

"Hello, Myrtle." Said a sneering voice.

Elizabeth stopped walking and looked up. Olive, Augustine, and Enola stood beside a window. Enola lay out on the windowsill, Olive and Augustine stood beside her. Olive's eyes glowed in the dim light with glossy mischief. She shook the hair from her face and crossed her arms.

"Haven't seen you around lately. Been busy?" Her sing song voice was filled with amusement.

Elizabeth looked away and moved to take a step forward.

 "Not so fast." Olive stopped her. "I hear George Abbott is going out with Estella Lovegood."

Elizabeth's heart slowed, "What's it to you?"

Olive took a step toward her. "Oh nothing... I suppose you aren't going. Haven't been asked, have you? Of course, you haven't. No one would ask you, not when you wear those hideous glasses."

The girls behind her cackled.

"Oh Olive, you give the glasses too much credit." Enola said, looking at Elizabeth over her shoulder. "Myrtle's just as ugly without them."

"My name is Elizabeth."

Olive sneered, her eyes narrowing in on her fiercely.

"Your name, is Myrtle." She took a step toward her. Elizabeth stepped back.

"Ugly, Myrtle." Another step.

"Boring, Myrtle." Another step.

She had now backed her against the wall, they were practically nose to nose.

"Useless, Myrtle. A complete waste of space. I hope you know you'll always be alone. Always. You'd better hope you don't live too long and make it short."

Elizabeth couldn't say anything, she had no words. Maybe if she had a sense deep within her that she was wrong she could find the strength. But deep down, she just didn't. If you are told you are something long enough, you'll eventually start to believe that you are.

Especially if that something is useless, boring, and ugly.

Olive smiled wide and finally took a step back. "Sleep tight, Myrtle."

Elizabeth didn't move for a long while, watching, frozen against the cold stone wall as the girls disappeared down the corridor. Her mind continued to echo the words, noise bouncing back and forth between stone walls and mingling with the painful words that already lived there.

She finally pushed herself off the wall and began to walk toward Ravenclaw tower. But a voice spoke to her from the shadows along the wall.

"I can make it stop."

She froze, a chill running up her spine.

She slowly glanced at the boy who stood there.

"What?" She whispered, her voice barely audible to even her.

"I can make it stop. I can make them stop." He repeated.

It was Tom Riddle, leaning against the stone wall with his hands in his trouser pockets. And it was perhaps the first time he had ever spoken a word to her outside of what was necessary in a classroom.

She finally comprehended his words. He must have seen her run in with the crows, a name that George had gifted the Ravenclaw trio.

Elizabeth scoffed and moved to continue on her way, but he spoke again.

"I can make them hurt... if you want."

For a brief moment, the thought of watching those three girls in pain filled her with excitement. To be able to watch them burn at the stake, crying out their apologies and pleading for her forgiveness. She would have all the power, and it would be delicious.

But then her conscious caught up with her.

"Just... just stay out of it, Riddle." She spoke, her voice shaky.

"No one would know. It would never fall back on you. It would just make their lives... a bit inconvenient for a while." His eyes glinted, rosy lips moving with every word he spoke in a mesmerizing way. As if he had carefully calculated and practiced every word he spoke.

"What's it to you?" She asked.

Tom pushed himself off of the wall and shrugged, his hands still in his pockets as he made his way towards her. He still looked neatly put together, even at this late hour.

"I suppose we could come to an... agreement. A deal."

"A deal?" Elizabeth scoffed, her eyebrows raised in shock. Of course he wanted something in return.

"Something for you, something for me."

"And what is it that want?"

"No, you've got to agree to it first before I tell you."

Elizabeth's jaw dropped. "You expect me to make a deal with you when I don't even know what I'm agreeing to? Absolutely not."

"Don't worry, its nothing terrible. You won't be getting into any trouble. I simply need your sworn secrecy and absolute commitment."

"And in return for my... commitment and secrecy?" The words were bitter in her mouth.

"We make a few Ravenclaw girls very miserable." A smirk spread across his face. Standing here in the moonlight, tall and smirking, she could understand why he seemed to have the entire female population of Hogwarts under his spell. Maybe she was under it now.

Or maybe she was just filled with childish excitement at the idea of revenge.

And besides, Tom Riddle was a prefect and top of his class–she had even heard rumors that he hoped to become a professor here at the school. How bad could his proposal be?

"Alright. I accept." She reached out her open hand.

Tom smiled, taking her hand into his larger one and shaking it. "Excellent."

Elizabeth took her hand back. "Now, what exactly is it that I've agreed to?"

"I'm doing a bit of research."

Elizabeth blinked. "You need me to tell you where to find a book? Riddle, I'm in the library doing exactly that practically every day. You could have just-"

He cut her off. "No, I couldn't. Because this research has to be secret. And I believe that a few books that I need are not in the library."

Elizabeth frowned. "Then where are they?"

"That's exactly what I need you to find out."

Elizabeth sighed, both relieved and disappointed at how simple his request had been.

"Alright, easy enough. And what exactly are you researching?" She asked.

"No, not here." He spoke. "Do you have plans to go to Hogsmeade this weekend?"

"No, not particularly."

"Good, you'll meet me on the bridge at 8am on Saturday."

"The bridge?" It was mid-March, and still bitter cold in the Scottish highlands. Particularly at 8am in the morning.

"Yes, we won't be overheard or disturbed there." He said matter of factly.

What could he be researching that were so important that it had be kept secret?

Elizabeth agreed anyway.

Tom began to walk away, but he stopped and turned on his heels. "Warren?"

He held a stone cold look, his words just as icy. "This stays between us, only us."

Elizabeth swallowed sharply, and nodded.

Chapter Text

Elizabeth’s parents were muggles. When she had received her letter to Hogwarts, she had read it over and over again thinking it were some sort of joke. Up until the very moment she had arrived at Hogwarts, she had believed a horrible practical joke had been played on her. That, or an elaborate scheme to send her off to an orphanage.

But in the end, her magical abilities had made so much sense.

As a child, strange things would happen to her.

Her parents fought all the time. Her father had a strong temper and a tendency to drink too much. Her mother was just sad, all the time. Her father would scream, her mother would cry. On one occasion, they had been arguing in the kitchen while Elizabeth sat at the breakfast table, staring at her tea but unable to drink it. And then–the teacup burst. It simply crackled into pieces and sent tea everywhere. It had soaked her dress and the tablecloth, and her father had yelled at her. Told her she was stupid and useless, a freak.

Her mother had tried to console her and help her clean it up, but she could tell that it bothered her. Her mother was afraid of her. She knew that.

A hundred other small instances filled those 11 years prior to Hogwarts. Every magical child had similar stories of magical outbursts, it was completely normal. But it had made her life very, very hard.

She had felt isolated her entire childhood. Born to parents who couldn’t love her, who were put off by her mere existence. It seemed as if she was destined for a life of being an outcast.

When she got to Hogwarts, part of her thought it were the end of such misery. Sure, she would have to see her parents for a few weeks throughout the year. But she had found people like her. The magical world was filled with color, unlike the grey world of 1930’s London. But then there was Olive and her crows. Estella, George, and the other wonderful acquaintances she had throughout her years made things better. But there was still that painful reminder every once in a while that she would never quite be enough. 

Perhaps that was why she had been so quick to accept Tom Riddle’s deal. The notion that someone needed her was something very foreign to Elizabeth. That someone would purposefully seek out her of all people and want to help her. It touched insecurities that lie very deep within her. In the end, people just want to be wanted.

The rest of the week rolled by quickly, every day much the same. Estella and George seemed both nervous and excited for their date to Hogsmeade, Estella having breakdowns every night of the week over what she should wear.

“Witch weekly says that if you wear blue on a first date. It shows them you’re gentle and secure.” She had sat as she showed Elizabeth her pale blue dress.

Elizabeth had frowned, unsure if George of all people would put that much thought into what color Estella was wearing. “Stella, don’t over think it. You look very pretty in the blue, but I’ve loved the past three dresses you’ve shown me as well. George won’t even pay that much attention anyway! All he’ll notice is that you look pretty and that the blue is a nice color.”

Estella had frowned, staring at her form in the mirror. “Maybe I ought to wear the yellow one then, he loves yellow.”

It had been a constant stream of dress options. Finally, Elizabeth had caved and gave a list of reasons as to why she agreed that the blue dress with the thin white flowers was the best option.

A few times she had seen Tom. One morning at breakfast, they had made eye contact from across the great hall, he had been watching her. She hadn’t smiled at him or even nodded, but there still seemed to be an unspoken, mutual understanding between them. The same went for the few times that they passed one another in the halls, or when she had caught him observing her as she explained an answer in Transfiguration. He hadn’t budged when she had caught him. Unashamed of the way his dark eyes watched her with intense scrutiny.

It had become so nerve wracking, that by the end of the week she couldn’t wait for Saturday just so she could clear the air. 

Once a nervous Estella had finally left the dorm, she had bundled up and trudged to the bridge. By now all of the students planning to go to Hogsmeade had left, and those who weren’t were sleeping in. The remainder of the castle was left exceptionally quiet, particularly the bridge. It wasn’t hard to spot Riddle, leaning against a wooden beam and looking unbothered. He didn’t move when she stepped onto the creaking boards, she suspected he had already known she was approaching.

“Riddle,” She acknowledge quietly.

“Warren,” He spoke lowly.

She stood before him, gloved hands shoved deep into the pockets of her winter cloak in an attempt to stay warm.

“Well go on then, you dragged me out into the freezing cold. You’d better explain what it is you’re doing.” She said impatiently.

“What do you know about Salazar Slytherin?” He spoke bluntly.

The question caught her off guard.

“Salazar Slytherin? As in… the Hogwarts founder?”

Riddle looked annoyed, his jaw rolling. “Yes, the Hogwarts founder.”

“Well… he founded the school along with the others. But he eventually left because he didn’t think muggle-bornstudents should be allowed at Hogwarts.” The words were acrid on her tongue, and the way Tom’s eyes lit up at her words sent a jolt through her.

“Is that it?” He asked with a slight raise of his brow in a condescending smirk.

“Well, I suppose there’s more but that’s the main bit. Why are you asking me this? This is first year stuff, and it’s certainly in the library.”

“He just left. After all the work he had put into founding the school, he just…left.”

Elizabeth blinked. A gust of wind blew against the bridge, shaking its decrepit wooden beams violently.

Tom turned to lean his forearms against the banister, looking out at the fog covered forest. “I heard a fascinating rumor about a certain chamber that might exist within the castle built by Salazar Slytherin himself.”

Elizabeth had never heard anything like it, and she highly doubted the rumors were founded.

“If there were a secret chamber at Hogwarts, I’m sure we would know by now. Riddle, that was centuries ago.”

He looked at her intensely, words serious. “Not if they weren’t able to open it.”

She hesitated, “What are you trying to say?”

He stood to his full height, she felt her pulse quicken.

“What I’m saying,” He spoke in a hushed voice, dipping his head just slightly to level himself with her. “is that no one has been able to find it because it needs one important element. And they didn’t have that.”

She stared up into his dark eyes. “And what’s that?”

His lips slowly tugged into a grin.

“His blood.”

Elizabeth would have liked to say that a million thoughts ran through her head, a thousand explanations for his words and their implication. But it just wasn’t true. She was a smart girl. She knew exactly what he meant. There was no century old vile of the old man’s blood hidden away within the castle. What had always mattered most to Salazar Slytherin was lineage. She wasn’t the most familiar with the exact intricacies of the Slytherin line, but she did not that the family tree among pure blood society was highly interwoven. Any number of the students holding a name of The Sacred Twenty-Eight could be from this lineage.

“Who?”

The boy didn’t answer, instead, as he bore into her eyes, she noticed something move within him. And then it clicked.

She inhaled deeply and took a step back, lips parting in disbelief.

She scoffed, “You don’t mean to imply that…that’s ridiculous. I don’t even recognize the name Riddle.”

He flinched, eyes closing and jaw ticking. “My mother’s name, was Gaunt.”

He spoke the word mother with such violent disdain that Elizabeth was taken aback. Gaunt was a name she knew, one that did belong to the Twenty-Eight. But beyond that, her knowledge was limited on the family.

She brushed the logistics of his lineage aside and spoke again, “And this is what you’ve been researching? Your connection to Salazar Slytherin?”

“And the chamber.” He added.

“Right, the chamber that may or not exist.”

“It exists.”

Elizabeth huffed and looked toward the forest simply to get a break from looking into his eyes. “Then what is it that you need my help with?”

“I need you to help me find it.”

Elizabeth turned to face him quickly, “You dragged me out to this flimsy old bridge, at 9am, in the freezing cold, on a Saturday morning, to help you do a bit of a scavenger hunt?”

Tom Riddle looked as if he wasn’t used to being questioned, and although she didn’t know this at the time, it was because he wasn’t.

“I have found several books, many as far back as 995, acknowledging the existence of such a chamber, as well as the monster within in.”

Elizabeth wished she weren’t such a stereotypical Ravenclaw and that the mention of books hadn’t somewhat softened her feelings towards his plans, but an ancient book was more trustworthy than the words of a teenage boy. And at the very least it was a second opinion.

“I want to see these books.”

She followed Riddle as he led her back into the castle and to the library. It was completely empty, she couldn’t even spot Madam Inkwell. Much to her surprise, he didn’t head for the restricted section. Instead, he took her to the section on dedicated to Hogwarts, its founding and history. He pulled out several books quickly and with agile hands, she suspected he had memorized this section during his research up until this point.

He placed the largest of the books in front of him and flipped through it until he landed on the desired page. Riddle shoved the book towards her and pointed to a paragraph.

“Read here,” he said, and turned to flip through the other books.

And so, she read:

“Following the death of Salazar Slytherin, rumors emerged that during his time at Hogwarts, he may have created a secret chamber. This chamber was said to have been hidden deep within the castle and kept a secret even from the other school founders. The purpose of such a chamber largely remains unknown. However, it is said only a direct descendent of Salazar Slytherin himself will be able to open the chamber. Although many things about this chamber remain a secret, including its location, one can be assured that upon its opening a grave horror will befall the school. Considering Slytherin’s personal views regarding blood purity and magical superiority, it can be reasonably inferred that if he were to create such a chamber, it would be to carry through with prior plans to ensure blood purity in the school. Due to the security concerns that such a theory presents to students of both muggle born and half-blood status, the school as routinely searched for Slytherins secret chamber with no success–”

“All this says is that there were rumors, Riddle. There are rumors about plenty of things.” She said as she sat the book down on the table.

Riddle set another book in her hands. “Now this one, start here.” He pointed to a paragraph at the bottom.

“Ignatius Ickleforth on the Chamber of Secrets – In 995, known confident of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry founder, Salazar Slytherin, and advocator of pure blood supremacy, wrote the following in his personal journal: It is my sincerest belief that Salazar’s current plans for a pure Hogwarts is the last hope of the magical community. I only wish I could live to see the day when such an heir brings such plans to life.”

Elizabeth struggled over the words. A close friend’s confirmation, or at least insinuation, of the chamber was something to go off of. But anyone could lie. And it still provided no direction on where such a chamber would be.

“There have been searches, Riddle. For hundreds of years the school has looked, and they’ve found nothing. Incredibly bright witches and wizards–”

He cut her off, his voice calm. “Because they weren’t supposed to find it. Only one person is able to find it.”

Elizabeth looked up him, unamused. “And that’s you, I suppose.”

He said nothing, didn’t attempt to correct her.

Elizabeth sighed and thought for a moment before speaking again. “Then what makes you any different than the people who have looked before you?”

“That doesn’t matter.” He said sharply.

“Doesn’t matter? How do you expect me to help you if you’re going to keep me in the dark?” She asked.

“It’ll be somewhere no one would look, somewhere out of the way…” Tom turned and scoured the shelves. “That’s where you come in.”

Elizabeth said nothing, waiting for him to continue. But he didn’t, instead he stood scowling at a place on the shelves—as if willing something to appear.

“Well?” She encouraged.

Tom glanced at her. “I need maps to the school.”

“Maps?” She jolted.

“Blueprints, a complete outline of the entire castle. Every hidden passage, every secret room.”

“Riddle—I don’t think there even is one.” She said hesitantly. “I mean, the castle is always moving and changing.”

“There has to be something, but I doubt they keep it in the library. It’s probably not even in the restricted section. No, it’s somewhere safe students can’t access it. Maybe even somewhere most teachers can’t access it.”

“Dippet’s office?” Elizabeth asked warily.

Tom shrugged, “Possibly.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Are you absolutely mental? Do you expect me to break into the headmaster’s office?”

Tom scoffed. “Of course not. You’ll get him to give it to you.”

“And how do you suppose I do that? I’ve never talked to the man one on one, I’m not even sure he knows who I am.”

Tom began sorting through books and reshelving them. “You’ll talk Madam Inkwell, tell her you’re curious about castle history and such. Say you’re looking for a map as a reference.”

“Madam Inkwell wouldn’t just give me something like that if it really is kept secret.”

Tom reshelved the final book and looked at her sharply. “She will.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled away.

‡‡‡

Elizabeth skipped dinner that night, wanting to avoid Tom at all costs. Which was the all the same because Estella didn’t return until late that night. When she came stumbling into their dorm, Elizabeth parted her curtain quickly.

Estella smiled and held a finger to her lips. “The others are sleeping,” she said in a hushed voice as she gestured to the two other canopied beds. She struggled to pull her shoes off before climbing onto Elizabeth’s bed, pulling the dark blue curtains closed behind her.

Elizabeth cast a light and a silencing spell, and no sooner then it had taken effect Estella burst.

“Oh Merlin, Elizabeth—it was so incredible, you wouldn’t believe. He was such a gentleman, we walked around the village together and he bought me those Acid Pops I love! Oh, and then he took me to lunch at the Three Broomsticks, and he pulled out my chair for me and he looked right into my eyes while I was talking—like I was the most important thing in the world! And we shared a butterbeer and I got a bit of cream on my lip and—Elizabeth, listen to this—he took his thumb and he wiped it off! Oh, I could have just melted right there! But that’s not even the best part. When we got back to the castle, he walked me to the common room. And he told me he liked spending time with me, and that most of the time I’m his favorite part of his day. And that when he saw me in the crowd at the Gryffindor match, he knew right then and there that I was the girl for him. And Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth struggled to keep up, but she leaned in with anticipation and nodded to encourage her friend on. She was terribly invested in what would become of her two closest friends. Oh, he better have kissed her, she thought. Don’t be a fool George!

“He kissed me!” Estella said, her pale cheeks flushed red and her blue eyes gleaming.

Elizabeth gasped with delight. “He didn’t!”

“He did! He really did. And it was incredible. It wasn’t very long, but he was so gentle with me. I felt like every bit of me was on fire! It was a dream.”

Estella collapsed onto her back and stared at the top of Elizabeth’s canopy.

Elizabeth chuckled, “Well, I’m so glad. You two have been ogling each other for years now. I don’t think I could stand another day of the tension.”

Estella sat up quickly.

“I suppose that means we’re together now, doesn’t it? Oh, Merlin I hadn’t even thought of that. What am I supposed to do?”

Elizabeth shook her head, “Don’t worry about it! You’ll do what feels right. Afterall, you were friends first and that doesn’t change. Except now you are friends who kiss…”

Estella went bright red now. Elizabeth laughed hard as she was shoved lightly by her friend.

“Well, I’m going to bed. I think I’ve had enough excitement for one night.” Estella said as she moved to climb off the bed.

“Oh yes, to bed. Most certainly not to dream of your handsome boyfriend and muscled arms and the way his hair gets all sweaty after quidditch practice—”

Estella’s eyes blew wide, and she hastily closed the curtain.

Elizabeth laughed and fell back onto her bed.

Chapter Text

For days Elizabeth struggled over how to find these maps–if they even existed. She knew the library and its contents like the back of her hand, and yet she still looked. She checked the restricted section–nothing. She looked in every corner she knew there were books and random scrolls, but her efforts were fruitless.

She knew she’d need the assistance of Madam Inkwell, but she just couldn’t bring herself to ask. The woman had been so kind to her, a vision of a loving mother she didn’t have. To betray her in such a way bit at Elizabeth deep within her bones.

But a small part of her was curious.

What if there really were such a chamber? And what of the creature lying within? If Tom really could yield it, she wanted to be behind him and certainly not against him. And apart from the chamber, she really was curious about the layout of Hogwarts. Knowing secret hideaways would come in handy. And besides, she wasn’t necessarily betraying Madam Inkwell… She really was doing a bit of research, and she wasn’t hurting anyone.

What was the harm?

Nevertheless, every time she opened her mouth to inquire, she couldn’t get the words out.

She wishes she could forget this whole ordeal–and Riddle with it. But she just can’t. He has a hold over her now, an invisible one that only she–and certainly he–can feel.

She lies awake at night trying to push thoughts of a tortured version of Olive Hornby and her snakes aside, but she just can’t. She craves it more than she wants to admit. The acceleration of her heartbeat when she fantasizes about their pleas for mercy, the gleam that will shine in the whites of their eyes–the fear at being entirely at her will.

She tries to ignore it. She forms a little box in her mind and shoves the images inside it. And she locks it. And throws away the key.

‡‡‡

“Madam Inkwell? Just out of curiosity–I wanted to ask– about a map to the school.” Elizabeth stuttered as she stood before the woman at her desk.

Madam Inkwell looked up, taking off her reading glasses and letting them hang from the beaded chain around her neck. “What was that darling?”

Elizabeth took a deep breath and steadied her words. “Is there by chance a map or a…blueprint of the castle?”

The woman sat back in her chair in thought. “That’s a very good question. I’m not sure.”

 “I was just…curious.” Elizabeth smiled hesitantly.

“Of course! The castle is a very strange thing. I’m sure a map would require very advanced magic in order to account for all the changing staircases, appearing rooms, and such. Would you like me to ask the headmaster for you? I’m certain he would know.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary! It’s nothing serious, just a thought I had.” Elizabeth said, stumbling over her words.

“Nonsense! I’m curious now as well. I shall ask him for the both of us!” The older woman smiled brightly.

“Perfect,” Elizabeth said airily. “We shall see what he says. Goodnight, Madam Inkwell.”

“Goodnight, Elizabeth”

When Elizabeth got back to her dorm, she found it empty. Aside from Estella, she shared the room with Margaret Mildredge and Jasmine Boxheart. Both were terribly kind girls–and tidy, which made up for Estella’s messy habits.

But what Elizabeth loved about them most was how happy they were will comfortable silence. Throughout the years, they had settled into a friendship and routine. They didn’t ask many questions, didn’t pry or start drama. But they smiled at her in the hallways, or asked to borrow a dress, and occasionally asked about her day.

But for a room of four girls, an empty dorm was a rare occurrence. And one that she intended to take full advantage of.

She turned the faucet of the bath on in their shared bathroom, letting it run until it was almost too hot to touch. Stripping off her clothes and taking off her glasses, she did her best to avoid mirrors. It was something she had found herself doing over the years. It was best if her body was merely something to be lived in.

But through the steam filling glass, she couldn’t help catching a glimpse of the dark circles under her eyes and the dullness of her skin. She looked–she looked like death. That was what her mother had always told her. Even in the summer she never seemed to have that glow that everyone else had, no matter what she did.

As the bath filled with hot water, the steam slowly clouded the mirror, and she was forced to look away. She slowly eased herself into the scalding hot bath, sinking lower and lower. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath–and slipped under water.

The world was quietest under water, as if everything else were blurred out. Only the soft movement of the water and faint creaking of the pipes to be heard. For a few seconds she could find herself in complete solace.

She’d been trying to train herself to hold her breath longer and longer for years. Attempting as best as she could to grasp at this solace.

55…56…57…

She relaxed her body, exhaled slightly from her nose. She emptied her mind until nothing but darkness remained. Blackness. A void.

59… 60… 61…

Suddenly an image of bloodied hands flashed in her mind. Long, pale, shaking hand, blood dripping. Were they her hands? Blood. A knife on the floor. Blood. A flash of light, a fang. A very, very large, fanged tooth. Blood. Dark eyes blinking, only to open and reveal red slits. Blood. So much blood. Dark, thick, and oozing from the walls, dripping onto the floor. Images of chaos and screaming. So much screaming. Was it her screaming?

Blood, blood, blood.

She gasped and emerged from the water with a jolt. Water sloshing everywhere as she gripped with edge of the tub with shaking hands. No not just hands, her whole body was shaking–her teeth vibrating. Short and violent breaths fell from her lips. And then–

Knocking, a very faint knocking at the bathroom door.

“Elizabeth?” A soft voice called from the other side.

She barely registered the sound or who it belonged to. Didn’t recognize the name as her own.

“Elizabeth, are you alright in there?”

Margaret. It was Margret at the door.

“I’m–” Her voice broke away. She swallowed painfully and spoke again. “Yes, I’m fine. Just… finishing up in the bath. I’ll be out in a moment.”

It was silent for a moment before Margaret responded.

“Alright, just checking.” She said in a soft voice.

Elizabeth covered her eyes with wet hands and sunk against the rim of the porcelain tub.

‡‡‡

The following day, Elizabeth wandered from class to class in a haze. She hadn’t slept, had barely even closed her eyes because whenever she did those images flashed in her mind. She was incredibly uneasy, and she had so many questions. Who had she seen? When had she seen?

But most of all she felt violated. Those weren’t her thoughts; those weren’t her memories. And yet somehow, she had seen them.

The questioning and rather concerned looks she received from both peers and teachers only confirmed her suspicions that she looked awful.

Elizabeth hadn’t seen Estella all morning. She had leapt from her bed as soon as she saw sunlight and managed only a partial cup of tea in an empty dining hall for breakfast. Defense Against the Dark Arts was the first class they shared that day.

“Goodness, you look terrible.” Estella said lowly when she sat down beside her in class. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

“A little,” Elizabeth lied.

“You’re practically grey–are you feeling alright?” She asked as she held the back of her hand to Elizabeth’s forehead.

Elizabeth only shrugged and hastily changed the subject. “How was class?”

“Alright, a bit boring. Just going over our dream journals.” Estella sighed as she pulled her DADA textbook and wand from her bag.

Elizabeth’s eyes widened as a thought occurred to her. Estella took divination, maybe she had an idea about what had happened to her. Perhaps something supernatural was at the center.

“Stell? Say you were to see–”

Before she could continue, she was cut off by Professor Merrythought.

“Alright everyone! Settle down, settle down. We’ve got a full day of lecturing to cover so let’s get to it.”

“Tell me after class,” Estella whispered.

Although the rest of the class was highly unenthused by a day of lecturing, Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief. Mindlessly taking notes seemed about all she could handle mentally. She quickly fell into a trance, hand moving to record Professor Merrythought’s words without comprehending anything.

Her peace was short lived when she had the distinct feeling of being watched. And she knew exactly who lie on the other end.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed the way he kept looking over his shoulder. Enticing her to meet his eye. 

She did her best to avoid it, looking everywhere but at him. But eventually Professor Merrythought turned to draw a diagram on the board–and she caved.

It was a decision she regretted immediately.

As soon as her eyes met his, her head felt as if it were being crushed. Squeezed between two impossibly strong hands. Probing, pushing, searching. She inhaled sharply and closed her eyes. And just as quickly as the sensation had come, it went.

What in merlin’s name was that?

He continued to glance at her for the remainder of class, but she kept her head bent low.

“What did you want to ask me?” Estella asked as they walked out of class together.

“Oh its–it’s sort of complicated. Talk to you more after classes?” Elizabeth said as she searched the sea of students for one in particular.

“Ok! I really do hope you’re alright.” Estella smiled warmly, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. “See you later!”

“Right, yeah. Of course,” Elizabeth said distractedly. She had spotted him.

As she moved through the crowd of people with much difficulty, it seemed they both had the same idea. He was charging straight towards her. Before she could say anything, Tom had grabbed her wrist and was guiding her towards an empty hallway. He set a nearly impossible pace with his long strides, but she managed to keep up.

He dragged her into an empty classroom and slammed the door behind them.

Elizabeth fumed, “What do you think you are–”

She was pushed against the stone wall, both wrists now circled in Tom’s cold hands as his eyes bore into her.

“What’s wrong with you?” He spoke, words intense and biting.

Elizabeth gaped. “I could ask you the same question! What did you do to me back there?”

“I asked you a question,” Tom growled. “What’s wrong with you?”

Elizabeth looked down at where he held her and struggled to release her wrists– but his grip only tightened. He pushed his body against hers to trap her more firmly against the wall and stop her wiggling.

“Look at me.” He demanded. Somehow her body obeyed, her eyes snapping to his. “Tell me what’s wrong with you or I’ll take it from you.”

“Nothing is wrong with me!” She said frustratedly, trying to move away from him.

“Please,” Tom scoffed. “You look like death.”

Elizabeth laughed, “Thank you so very much, Tom. That’s really sweet of you to say.”

Her laughing quickly stopped however when her mind suddenly felt as if it were going to explode again. She could feel certain thoughts and memories being pulled to the surface of her mind–alarm bells ringing in every direction that she needed to fight back. Using every bit of strength she could muster, she closed her eyes and violently blocked everything out.

Next thing she knew, her wrists were free and Riddle had moved a few paces away from her. He stared at her in disbelief.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” He said breathlessly, looking her up and down as if trying to solve her like an arithmancy problem.

“Do what?” She asked, frowning as she rubbed her reddened right wrist.

“Occlude.”

Elizabeth looked at him in confusion. “Occlude? Like occlumency? I don’t know how to do that.”

“You just did,” Riddle said in a matter-of-fact tone. He leaned against the desk behind him and crossed his arms over his chest.

Elizabeth could only blink at him, still glued to the stone wall behind her–afraid to move in fear that he might pounce on her again. She was beginning to feel increasingly uncomfortable around him.

“I spoke to Madam Inkwell. Last night, about the… maps.” She said softly, looking at a space on the wall behind him.

Riddle’s interest had been peaked. Leaning forward ever so slightly, he encouraged her to continue. “And?”

“And she’s going to talk to Dippet. She said she wasn’t sure about a map.”

Elizabeth wasn’t sure what she expected from Riddle, maybe a look of relief, perhaps a thank you or a smile. Instead, he only nodded sharply, “Good.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes, keep looking. And let me know as soon as you get anymore word.” He stood to his full height and began straightening his robes. Elizabeth shook her head and looked away, crossing her arms over her chest and tucking her wrists away. She stared out the window at the grounds beneath them, everything looking cold and dead.

“Warren?” His voice came firmly.

She looked at him over her shoulder.

“Not. A soul.” Riddle’s voice nearly shook in its finality, nearly. It wasn’t a voice of a school boy.

Elizabeth nodded. He left the room without bothering to close the door behind him.

Chapter Text

“There’s nothing?” Elizabeth questioned nervously.

Madam Inkwell sighed and shook her head. “Nothing, I’m afraid.”

Elizabeth’s teeth caught her bottom lip and began worrying it. “Well…that’s alright.” She smiled reassuringly. “I was only curious. Thank you very much for looking into it for me.”

 “Of course! Such a shame. It would be a useful tool! Perhaps one day some talented witch or wizard with far too much time on their hands will concoct such a thing.” Madam Inkwell said thoughtfully.

Elizabeth blinked.

She could… It would take so long but–but she couldn’t go to Tom empty handed. Her mind immediately began to fill with plans for just how she would go about the task. She would simply have to craft it as she went. Maybe she could pick a section of the castle a day, work her way through its immensity slowly. Just so she could get every detail. Yes, she would start with the–

“Alright, dear?” Madam Inkwell soft voice intruded her thoughts.

She still stood before her, looking at her with a worried expression. She quickly collected herself.

“Oh yes! Just thinking of how much time that would take, fell down a bit of a rabbit hole in my mind. It would certainly have to be someone with far too much time on their hands.”

“Yes,” Madam Inkwell laughed as she moved to her desk, shuffling through the papers there.

Or someone very, very desperate.

Elizabeth turned and breezed through aisles of books, not bothering to reshelve the books left out on the tables.

Instead, she went straight to the back of the library where spare parchment could be found. As quietly as she could manage, she sifted through the paper until she pulled out an oddly shaped piece of rectangular parchment.

She lay the parchment out on a table in the back, a corner that students very rarely frequented unless they were looking for a quiet and undisturbed location for some…extracurricular activities. She was lucky enough that she had a fairly good knowledge of the school’s layout already–having discovered quite a few hidden passageways and nooks in her escapes from Olive Hornby. Taking out a quill she began sketching, starting with the library. In one sitting, she managed to sketch out a rough outline of the entire castle–minus the owlery and clock tower. Her hand ached and her eyes were dry. Merlin, it was 5 minutes after 10. She quickly stowed away her ink and quill.

“Reducio,” She whispered. With a flick of her wand, the piece of parchment shrunk until it was the size of a postcard. She slipped it into her bag, along with a few books on map making. Just in case.

As she made her way to the door, she reshelved books along the way.

“Goodnight, Madam Inkwell!” She shouted as she rushed out, not waiting for a reply or a lecture on staying past curfew.

Unfortunately, however, she had been so preoccupied with finding Tom Riddle a solution that she had forgotten who had prefect duty tonight. And as she rounded the corner, a certain red headed prefect met her eye.

Prefects normally patrolled in pairs, and yet Olive was alone. Most likely having manipulated the situation somehow.

Olive smiled brightly, her perfectly straight, white teeth on display. She tilted her head, wand twisting between her hands. Elizabeth gripped her own in her robe pocket.

“If it isn’t, Myrtle Warren!” Olive said in a sing song voice. “Breaking curfew, are we?”

Elizabeth took a step backward, making a mental examination of where she was and all the different ways she could escape.

“I’ll have to write you up for this, you know Myrtle. I take my prefect duties very seriously.” She sauntered towards her step by step, examining her with deep disdain.

And then suddenly she stopped, and her eyes narrowed.

“I heard the strangest rumor the other day.”

If she could just make it past the astronomy tower, perhaps she could hide in the girl’s lavatories around the corner. No one ever went in there, the toilets didn’t flush well and the sinks dripped.

“Meadow Finley said that she saw you and Tom Riddle go into an empty classroom together.”

Elizabeth jolted. And she was sure Olive had seen her reaction.

Olive went on. “I was quite shocked as well. Almost didn’t believe her, seeing how repulsive you are and all. I couldn’t imagine Tom Riddle of all people wanting to be alone with you.”

Her words were as condescending and hurtful as ever. “But alas, I trust Meadow. She’s the sweetest girl. She’d never lie to me.”

Thirty seconds, she could be to the lavatory in thirty seconds if she ran. She could lock the door and ward it–

Olive was only a few steps away from her, Elizabeth could see her sneer clearly now.

“Words can’t express how disgusted I was when I heard,” She spit. “Tom’s the smartest boy in our class, but he must be stupid to go anywhere near you. Perhaps you used something on him. I could get you sent to Azkaban for that you know, my father is on the Wizengamont.”

Olive stepped closer, and Elizabeth could barely breathe. She just wanted to leave, she just wanted to go somewhere–anywhere but here.

“Or maybe…” Olive wand slid underneath Elizabeth’s chin and her words shook with rage. “I’ll handle it myself.”

Elizabeth moved to pull her wand from her pocket, but before she could do so Olive caught her wrist in a deathly grip.

“You walk around with your nose in the air like you’re better than everyone else. Every day I have to look at you and it makes me sick. You have no idea how much I wish I could make you just disappear.”

Elizabeth could feel tears threatening the corners of her eyes at the sharp jab of Olives wand in the soft part of her throat. She could feel her perfectly polished fingernails digging into the skin on her wrists, the bruising and cuts that were sure to be there.

Olive leaned down and brought her lips near her ear, her words low and dripping in venom. “I don’t want to hear your name in the same sentence as Tom’s ever again. I promise you; I’ll make you go away and never come back.”

Olive’s hand dropped her wrist quickly, leaving sharp scratches in their wake. Elizabeth could barely see her walk away through her tear blurred vision. She stumbled her way back to the girl’s bathroom and to a sink. She held her wrist under the cold water, blotched blood disappearing under the stream. She hissed at the pain and chanced a glance at her reflection through the deteriorated and water tainted mirror.

And all she saw was anger in her tired eyes. A growing flame in the darkness, burning brighter and brighter with every sharp sting of her wrist.

‡‡‡

Tom twisted the ring on his finger and clenched his jaw tightly. He watched the way it glistened an impenetrable obsidian in the faint firelight of the Slytherin common room. It was such a small thing–the ring. And yet the weight of it was immense.

The weight of what it represented, of what it held within it. He credited those moments after it had been created for his rebirth. Sure, there were things that had led him to that point, defining points in his story that he knew the world would one day study in order to understand his greatness. But it was the moment he slipped the ring on that he felt rebirth. He had sacrificed the old and created a new.

But it wasn’t enough. 

Too much power rested in a single band of gold. This small ring was perhaps all that stood between him and death. It would never be enough, and it was an anxiety that he carried with him in every breath. Itching, gnawing, thrashing within him. It needed more. He needed more. The sweet surge of his being he had felt had long since disappeared, and like an addict he craved release.

An array of books lay spread out on the table before him. He knew every word, had recorded his notes twice over in the little leather journal he kept. These books held nothing substantial. In fact, it seemed to Tom as if they were taunting him–acknowledging the existence of horcruxes but giving no detail on their creation or extent. Any true information had to be outsourced from private libraries.

Tom gripped his quill, a spot of ink dropping onto the thick pages of his journal. Slowly and with immense pressure he began to trace seven bold lines, his heavy handedness causing the ink to bleed.

I I I I I I I

“Tom?”

He snapped the book closed quickly and tucked it into the pocket in his robes.

Abraxas Malfoy stood before him in his Slytherin pajama pants and tired eyes. The boy with sharp, aristocratic features, always pruned to perfection. Even now in this state he stood with militant attention and perfect posture.

“You alright?” He asked, glancing at the open books spread across the table. Abraxas was no stranger to Riddle’s ambitions. The following summer he had sent Tom the only two books on the creation of Horcrux’s from the Malfoy library. He had also been his first friend at Hogwarts.

“Fine,” Tom said sharply, beginning to stow away the texts. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Abraxas accepted his words and didn’t point out the fact that he was still in his school uniform. He only nodded and sat down at the table across from him.

Tom cleared his throat, “Any word from your father?”

“Got an owl from him this morning, said there’s nothing in our catalogues…but he might know someone who has something.”

Tom’s dark eyes glistened with the knowledge. A slight smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. “Good, you’ll inform me of any updates right away.”

It wasn’t a request or suggestion; it was an order.

Tom stood and moved to walk away as Abraxas struggled over his words.

Abraxas was a loyal follower, but he had always been a friend first. Perhaps it was his sheltered upbringing, the constant guarantee of anything he wanted in life–but he couldn’t see the appeal of splitting one’s soul. It didn’t take a genius to question the sort of effect it could have on a person, regardless of the promise of immortality.

He was in no position to question Tom. But nevertheless, he needed assurance–even if it were only for himself. Even if the response were a lie.

“Is it worth it?” He spoke lowly as he stood.  

Riddle halted.

A breath later Tom spoke, low and final. “Of course it’s worth it.”

Slowly he turned around to face Abraxas, his eyes so dark in the glow of the firelight you couldn’t see where his pupils ended.

Abraxas tensed as his leader took sharp steps toward him. Abraxas was tall. Tom was still taller.

To make matters worse, Tom’s magic was so strong that if you paid enough attention, you could feel it palpitating off him. And his magic was strongest was he was angry.

Abraxas had to say something.

“I want you safe. The power can’t be worth it if when the time comes you aren’t strong enough to wield it.” He spoke quickly. “So, I’ll do everything in my power to know everything about these things. About their limits and effects.”

Tom seemed satisfied with his words, but he continued.

“I trust you completely, Tom. I’ll follow you until the end…. But I’ll also do everything in my power to keep you safe along the way. Every resource I have will go towards researching for you. You should know that.”

This time it was Abraxas’s turn to step forward. He was very rarely scared of Tom, intimidated mostly. But it was times like this, when he meant his words completely that he was frightened. He couldn’t shut out Tom’s reaction when it was in response to his vulnerability, no matter how hard he tried.

Tom’s eyes never left his and he couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’ll owl my father for any updates.” He spoke. And he turned and left, leaving Riddle with a very conflicted anger coursing through him.

It had to be worth it. It had to be seven. And most of all, it had to be soon.

To know that he had Abraxas Malfoys loyalty felt good. But his loyalty was different than the others. Somehow more devote, but far more fragile. With more terms than the childlike following of the other pureblood Slytherin boys.

He wasn’t sure which he preferred. 

But in the end, power was power.

Chapter Text

Elizabeth pulled her grey sweater sleeve further down over her wrist, inhaling sharply as the fabric rubbed against the remnants of Olive’s attack. She had done what she could to heal the scratches, but she hadn’t yet mastered the art of bruises and scarring. And so, the skin of her right wrist remained marred and quite sensitive.

She picked up her cup of tea and looked over the great hall, scanning the tops of heads until landing on the Slytherin table. Riddle sat where he always did, surrounded by his usual gang of Slytherin pureblood boys. Somewhat taken aback, she watched as a strikingly blonde boy snatched a piece of parchment from Riddle’s hands. She had never seen someone behave so casually around Riddle, and for some reason it unnerved her.

“Stella?” She questioned, her eyes never leaving the table of boys as she sat her tea on the table.

Estella hummed as she turned the page of the Daily Prophet.

“Who’s that boy next to Riddle?” Elizabeth asked as she smeared a bit of mandarin marmalade onto her toast. Estella had a tendency to “accidently” overhear gossip, which meant she had an extensive comprehension of everyone in attendance at Hogwarts–as well as their associations and latest drama.

Estella looked up from her paper with a look of shock. “What?”

“That boy there,” Elizabeth said as she set her knife down onto her plate. “The blonde one.”

Estella looked up at the far end of the Slytherin table until she spotted the boy in question. “Oh, that Abraxas Malfoy. He’s a sixth year.”

“And he’s friends with Riddle?” Elizabeth asked as she took a bite of her toast, wiping a bit of cream from her lip.

“Barely ever separate, I can’t believe you’ve never noticed before! Malfoy follows Riddle around like a lost puppy.”

Elizabeth shifted her focus to the other boys surrounding Riddle. “And the others?”

One by one Estella named the boys, as well as any knowledge she had on them.

“That one there across from him with the curly hair–you can’t see his face–that’s Timothy Nott. Comes from a rich pureblood family. His uncle is the one that wrote that pureblood book a few years back. That’s about all I know about him. Actually, that’s not true. I once heard a rumor that his family had dealings with muggle mafia business in Birmingham. But that’s probably not true.”

“Next to him is Nicholas Avery. He’s on the quidditch team. Keeper, I think–I can’t remember. Really nice from what I heard, certainly smiles the most out of the lot of them. He went out with Diana Travers from the Hufflepuff team once. Do you remember that? George had a big fuss about it. They didn’t last long, inter-house romance taboos and all.”

“Then there’s Francis Rosier, next to Malfoy. Looks a bit sickly doesn’t he? Really good at potions though, won that award from Slughorn a while back. I’ve never heard the boy talk, he’s really quiet. Keeps to himself mostly.”

“And on Riddle’s other side is Corvus Lestrange, really old pureblood family from France. He’s got a really thick French accent, loads of girls are obsessed with him…and that’s all of them.”

Elizabeth kept tabs on them the remainder of breakfast, watching their interactions carefully. What fascinated her most was the obvious divide between the group of boys and the remainder of the Slytherin table. They all moved in fluid movements and held themselves with an air of confidence and prestige. But they kept to themselves, speaking only to each other.

Suddenly Abraxas stood from the table, hands in his pockets as he sauntered through the tables. Thinking fast, Elizabeth quickly pulled out a piece of parchment from her bag.

“Quick, give me your quill!”

Estella handed her the quill she had tucket behind her ear to take notes on her paper.

Elizabeth hastily dipped it into the pot of ink and scribbled out a message. She shook it a few times, folded it over, and jumped up from her seat.

“Be right back,” She mumbled as she scrambled over her feet to follow the boy out of the hall. She burst through the doors, looking both ways before she saw him through a thin crowd of students in the hallways making their way toward their first classes. She quickly weaved her way through them, trying to keep up with Malfoy’s long strides. When she was close enough, she called out to him.

"Malfoy!”

He gave no sign that he had heard her, continuing to make his way down the hallway with Elizabeth’s fast footfalls echoing on the walls behind him.

“Abraxas!”

He finally halted and turned sharply, crystal grey eyes searching for who had called for him. They fell on her as she slowed her pace and attempted to catch her breath.

“You’re–” She panted. “Abraxas Malfoy?”

He looked her over questioningly. He was just as intimidating as Riddle–tall, built for quidditch, and with an air of refinement. His robes were perfectly pressed and had obviously been tailored for him.

“Yes?” He answered with a sneer. “And you are?”

Elizabeth ignored his question and instead handed the folded piece of parchment out towards him. “Will you give this to Riddle?”

Malfoy observed the paper skeptically, and then looked back at her. Until that moment it hadn’t occurred to her that his kind didn’t particularly like her type–muggleborns. The way he looked at her, it was like he could tell. Like he could sense the lack of magical ancestry permeating from her. She felt her hand shake slightly.

He took the note from her quickly and pivoted sharply, slipping the note into his pocket and walking away in long strides.

‡‡‡

Tom had been known for pacing in his room at the orphanage. Mrs. Cole constantly complained that his circling back and forth would wear away the floorboard. Something she didn’t have the funds to replace.

He had always thought best when he was able to expel some nervous energy, thus his habit of shaking his leg whenever he was sitting, and pacing.

His first year of Hogwarts he had found himself pacing quite a lot, only this time he had an entire castle at his expense. It had been this that led him to his accidental discovery of a very curious room.

A group of giggling girls walked down the hallway as he was in deep thought, and it had ticked something in him. He was so annoyed and angry. If he wasn’t so concerned with staying at Hogwarts, he would have done something about it. But instead, he thought about how much he wanted somewhere quiet to think.

The doorway appeared just as the group of girls passed him.

It looked like every other classroom door in the school, ordinary and in place. Except for the fact that Tom had walked up and down this very hallway a few times already, and it hadn’t been there before. He checked to make sure no one was watching and stepped through the door.

Inside was an exact replica of the Slytherin common room. Adorned with leather chairs and sofas, intricate and glowing fireplaces, and green banners. It even had that cold and slightly damp smell of the dungeons. The walls of the castle seemed to have opened up and created a room just for him.

Throughout the years he used it often, whenever he needed a quiet place for study or research.  And every time he found it perfectly suited to his needs. Like in third year when he needed a place to meet with Abraxas and the others–a long table appeared centered in the room. Since then, they’d met there every time he called them.

Francis Rosier lay spread out on the leather sofa in front of the fireplace, a muggle cigarette hanging between his fingers. A bad habit Tom had introduced them all too.

“Abraxas has never had to be on time a day in his life,” Francis muttered as he brought the cigarette to his lips. “Give him a break.”

“Piss poor excuse, Francis. I skipped out on Yvonne Parkinson to be here,” Timothy sighed as he stripped off his cloak. “Speaking of which–Gentlemen…”

Timothy Nott spread out his arms wide with a look of pure satisfaction spread across his lips. “That would be round three today.” He took a deep bow and the boys–minus Tom–erupted into a chorus of hooting, applause, and laughter.

Their petty and boyish pursuits annoyed Riddle beyond measure, but before he could say anything the door swung open–and Abraxas walked through. He quickly made his way towards Tom who sat at the far end of the long table.

He dropped a folded piece of parchment in front of him.

“Another love letter.” He muttered bitterly.

Tom glanced up at him before taking it. He received quite a lot of these letters. Most of them he threw away, but some of them he read. Their pathetic ballads of affection were amusing to him. He flipped it open to find only a few messy scribbles.

Library – 9:30pm

Update

~ E

When he had read the note, he smirked. A flurry of possibilities rushing to the forefront of his mind. Plotting and planning.

He re-folded the parchment and slipped it into his pocket.

Eyes from around the room watched his every movement with curiosity, dumbfounded as he neither tossed it into the fire, nor read it aloud for a bit of fun. Tom ignored their looks and stood from his chair.

“Anything to report?” He asked in complete formality. 

Timothy finally dropped down into a seat at the table with a sigh. “My uncle has received correspondence from Grindelwald. He sent me an owl just this afternoon.”

The entire room froze, too stunned to say anything. So, Timothy went on.

“Said he wrote him about his book, no idea how he figured out it was him that wrote it. But anyway, Grindelwald was real interested to hear his thoughts on “the value of purity to society” or something like that. Apparently, Grindelwald is a real fangirl.”

Grindelwald’s ideology when it came to pureblood supremacy was nothing new to Tom. He had read many of his speeches and essays, and he had seen the way that pureblood society had rallied around him as a result. But–

“Why now?” Riddle asked lowly. “That book was published nearly ten years ago. Why is he reaching out to him now of all times?”

“Season starts at the end of the school year,” Abraxas spoke up. “That’s only a few months from now, people are already starting to make their guest lists. The Pureblood Directory is highly popular with parents looking to find propersuitors for the children. Having something supportive to say about clean breeding and how it supports wizarding society would be smart–open people up to how his movement is part of their life. Given the timing of it all.”

Tom thought on Abraxas’s words for a moment and then spoke. “Yes, that’s exactly it. He’ll want to be the star of the season, no better way to do that than by getting people to talk.” He turned back to Timothy. “What did your uncle write back?”

Timothy shook his head, “Didn’t say.”

Riddle checked his pocket watch. 9:35pm He straightened.

“You’ll write back to him and request his response immediately, Word for word, make that explicitly clear.”  He ordered.

Timothy nodded sharply. “Yes, my Lord.”

‡‡‡

Elizabeth ran her finger across the scalloped edges of a book nervously. She couldn’t help but check the time every few seconds. The library grew quieter, the sound of quiet conversation slowly being replaced by the whizzing of magic, scratching of quills, and gentle cracking of the fireplaces.

 She wouldn’t pull out the map just yet, she would explain the situation first as best as she could. Hopefully, he would understand and accept her alternative.

Hopefully, he would see how hard she had worked.

Engrossed by the far-off sounds and her racing thoughts, she didn’t notice Riddle approach her. She startled, inhaling sharply and gripping the edge of the book in her hands.

She put a hand over her heart and whispered, “Goodness, you scared me.”

Tom ignored her words, glancing around them as he spoke. “You have an update?”

“Well…” Elizabeth hesitated, looking down at the desk as her hands picked at the paper nervously. “It’s not great news but I think I have a–an alternative.”

She looked up to find Tom gazing at her intensely, practically willing a response from her with only his eyes. She gave in almost instantly.

“There’s no map.” She rushed before continuing. “Or at least that’s what Dippet wants people to think. My thought is that there very well may be one, but he doesn’t want anyone to know about it.”

Elizabeth watched as his jaw tightened, his fingers compressing into a tense fist on the table.

She quickly pulled out the large piece of parchment from beside her ankles.

“I took things into my own hands.” She spoke and spread the drawing out.

Riddle’s eyes dropped to the map right away, leaning forward to examine it.

“It’s only a rough drawing,” Elizabeth continued. “But I know the castle fairly well. I figure that if I take an area and focus on it in detail for a few days, I might have a completed map within a month.”

She waited silently for a response, his eyes never leaving the map. He no longer looked as tense as he had when she told him there was no map, but his expression was completely unreadable. The longer she knew Tom Riddle, the more she wished she could read his mind.

“I know that it’s not great, but I figured it was better–”

“It’s good,” he interrupted and slid the parchment toward her. “I’m aware of a few passageways and hidden rooms, I can point them out for you to add.”

His words so matter of fact and emotionless.

Elizabeth nodded. “That would be good–”

As she reached out to take the map, her sweater sleeve slid up just slightly.

Just enough that a sliver of black and purple bruising could be seen spotting the underside of her wrist. She moved to snap her wrist to her chest, but before she could do so fingers had caught her arm in a strong hold.

Fingers so cold that she could feel them through her sweater.

She was so caught off guard that Elizabeth made no move to pull her arm away. Tom took advantage of this and pulled her wrist closer to him.

His grip loosened a bit, and his pointer finger slid below the hem of her sweater, skin dragging against the soft part of her wrist and over her rushing veins as he pulled the fabric away.

When his finger caught a particularly sensitive scar, she hissed and jerked her arm. But his grip tightened, and she didn’t get very far.

Riddle finally looked away from her wrist and caught her eye.

“Who?”

Elizabeth blinked. It was a question she wasn’t expecting. “What?”

“Who did this?” His voice was hoarse and lower than she had ever heard it–it pulled at things deep within her. Her skin felt hot and yet–she was scared. Scared of what he might be capable of if his words alone held so much power. She didn’t want to tell him who had hurt her, she didn’t want to say her name.

Why? Why couldn’t she tell him?

Her hesitancy seemed to tell Tom all he wanted to know, and she watched his posture shift as he settled into a look of determination. Elizabeth could almost see the gears working in his mind as he tried to figure out how to go about handling the situation.

But his hand never left her arm. And once again he caught her by surprise as he spoke–still full of rage, but with more softness.

“You didn’t heal them.” It was a statement, an observation.

“Not that good with scars or bruises.” Elizabeth answered honestly. “Only got the scratches and some of the cuts.”

She most certainly didn’t expect her answer to make him angry again, and yet she watched as he nearly twitched.

He meticulously, almost mechanically, folding her sweater sleeve up and out of the way. When her wounds were on complete display, he rotated to cup his hand below her wrist and support it. He pulled his wand from his robes, and she watched in awe as he silently muttered healing charms. His wand moved to hover across her bruises and scaring, and slowly they faded until all that was left was her untarnished ivory skin.

Riddle moved her wrist, examining his work. And then finally his touch slowly slipped from hers.

Elizabeth brought her fingers to her wrist and ran over the skin. There was no pain, no redness, or bumps. He hadn’t just concealed them, he’d healed them.

“Thank you,” she said softly, staring at her wrist as if it were new.

Tom said nothing. He pocketed his wand and left.

Chapter Text

Tom had found that there was a science, a three-step process to breaking someone. To crack open the very soul of his prey and insert himself.

Step one was awareness. He had to first establish himself within the awareness of his prey, they had to know he was there. It was also during this step that he identified a weakness, something he would later manipulate. Step two was gentle cruelty. Small displays of authority that dug into a persons skin and allowed for paranoia to fester. And finally, possession. The defining moment in which his prey broke, and they fell to his feet.

It was a practiced science, and it was one he had been developing for a while. Something that had been harder to learn was its individuality. People don’t break the same way. Stealing little trinkets didn’t bother Billy Stubbs as much as it had many of the other children. Mostly because he didn’t have many valuables, but nevertheless it had resulted in the rabbit situation and that had done the trick.

His interactions with Olive Hornby were limited. They were both prefects and had been so for several months now. However, they had never been scheduled to monitor together. What he did know was that she was very strict about social order–a social order that she made the rules to. Surely, in her mind she was at the top along with her two Ravenclaw friends.

And Elizabeth was at the bottom.

But why?

Clearly, Olive Hornby devoted a lot of time and energy into Elizabeth and keeping her at the bottom of this social pyramid. Someone who was not naturally socially dominant wouldn’t need to be constantly reminded of their place, wouldn’t need to be kept there. In a natural system, they simply stayed there.

Prefects met with the heads weekly on Tuesday nights after dinner. During which they would discuss school business, obtain their schedules for the week, and review house points. Tom always arrived promptly on time. Today he would be early.

Head girl, a pretty Ravenclaw named Margaret Edgecombe was always the first one there to ensure that any paperwork was in order. 

“Margaret,” He greeted her with a handsome smirk. 

She tucked a curl behind her ear and blushed a dark pink, “Tom, you’re an early bird today.”

He pulled out a chair beside her and sat down, “I actually wanted to ask for a bit of a favor, a small adjustment to the schedules this week.”

Margaret’s fingers fumbled with the paper, struggling to find the schedule she had drafted for the week. Tom liked to watch how nervous he made her. From the way she glanced at him from the corner of her eye every few seconds to her shifting in her chair.

“Looks like you’re with… Genova Greengrass for Wednesday and… Warner Laceworth on Thursday.” She said and attempted to make eye contact with him for a brief second.

Laceworth was fine. A half-blood Ravenclaw, but he didn’t mind walking in silence. Very much unlike Genova, who was insufferable. She talked, and talked, and talked. Tom knew far too much than he would like about the school’s drama as a result. But she was a pure-blood and a Slytherin, and valuable as such.

“Could you switch Laceworth with Olive Hornby for me?” He asked sweetly, leaning in just a bit closer and mclasping his hands in front of him.

“Olive?” She was obviously taken aback.

“Yeah, if it’s not too much to ask. I wanted to set an example with some interhouse relation. I’ve gotten to know Warner fairly well, wanted to get to know Olive as well. I really enjoyed what you had to say on the example that prefects set when it comes to house relations. It was just so insightful, I wanted to do my part.”

If it was possible for Margaret to blush anymore, she did.

“That’s–well, of course–thank you. That’s very–I’ll make the switch now.”

Tom rested his chin on his clasped hands and smiled at her. “Thank you so much, Margaret.”

Prefects began filling the classroom and Margaret breathed an audible sigh of relief.

“If everyone could please take their seats that would be great.” Head boy Dante Smith spoke firmly as the last of the prefects filed in.

When everyone had taken their seats, Dante sat down, and Margaret took his place. Her voice shook slightly with false confidence, “Let’s start with house points. Everything looks in order. As for schedules…” With a flick of her wand, the stack of papers to her right dispersed themselves before each prefect. “Please review your copies. As always, any changes after this point need to have appropriate cause.”

Tom didn’t bother picking up his copy and instead watched as Olive’s polished fingers picked up hers. Her eyes widened and glanced at Tom. He hardened his jaw–and didn’t look away.

Olive composed herself quickly, she was good at show, he would give her that. She wouldn’t go to Margaret and complain, it would ruin her cover. Sweet Ravenclaw girl, perfect hair, perfect pedigree–perfect composure. She wouldn’t want to mess with the order of things. Complaining about a patrol pairing wasn’t something perfect Ravenclaw girls did.

His lips curled into a smile.

Yes, he would enjoy getting to know Olive Hornby.

‡‡‡

Wednesday evening, Riddle stood waiting for Olive outside of the Great Hall. He arrived early to ensure he would be the first one there, but she would be promptly on time. Not a minute sooner, not a minute later. Likewise, she would leave at exactly 10:00. It left him with two hours, and it was more than enough.

He’d chosen a spot at the end of the hallway, one that gave him plenty of room to see her approaching as she rounded the corner–and she him.

It was fascinating the way she steeled herself with every step. She put her shoulders back, wand twirling in her hands as always, a soften smile on her glossed lips. Her red hair perfectly curled and sealed in place by god knows how many holding charms.

She stopped a respectable distance from her, cold eyes and bright teeth. “Evening, Riddle. Such a surprise to be paired with you.”

“Is it?” He cocked his head to the side, arm stretched out to his left and encouraging her to walk down the corridor.

“I had no idea you were so concerned with inter-house relations. Incredibly noble of you.”

Tom was thankful he was so much taller than her, he didn’t have to hide the smile her sarcasm brought him. He loved this game.

“Honouring the school is something I care very much about.”

She snorted. “Well, me and Otto usually like to divide and conquer. I’ve found that it allows us to cover more ground at all times. It’s far too easy to just track prefect routes and have good timing. And I hate sneaks.”

“No, I think we will stick together,” He clasped his hands together behind his back and meandered beside her down the corridor. Shooting her a glance with a raise of his brow as he continued, “that is the school’s policy, after all.”

Her lips pursed and she spoke through clenched teeth, “Fine.”

They rounded the corner and Tom spoke casually, “Your parents are purebloods?”

“Yes.” Her nose tipped up and she shook her hair back–but Tom didn’t miss the slight miss-step of her feet or the tightened grip on her wand. “My mother’s a Selwyn and my father is–of course a Hornby.”

Tom nodded, a play on thoughtfulness. “It’s just so strange…I’ve done a bit of research on magical family trees, and I’ve never been able to find anything for Hornby. Aside from your father of course, George–is it?”

He swore he could almost hear the skip of her heartbeat.

“Well, It’s there.” She scoffed.

“Mmm, yes, I’m sure. Must have missed it.” He rounded them around another corner, this one darker and empty. There was no moon tonight.

Olive moved to protest, looking back at the hallway they had come from. But before she could speak, he continued. “What I did find was a terribly interesting document, a magical agreement of secrecy. It was actually my friend Timothy Nott–do you know him?”

Olive had stopped walking. He turned to face her; she was growing quite pale–almost sickly in the lack of light. “This isn’t part of our route.” She spoke, quiet but still full of anger. Perhaps he needed to give her a bit of credit, she was not without fire.

“Olive…” He sauntered toward her, dropping his wand from his sleeve and watching in awe at the way she backed away. Her shoulders were drawn, and her chin remained high, but her eyes deceived her. “You like hurting people?”

Her throat bobbed. The breath knocked from her as her back finally hit the stone wall of the dark corridor.

“It’s alright,” He whispered, stepping closer still. “You can tell me.”

She moved for her wand, but he was faster than that. He had been practicing his localized immobilization spells. She was frozen now, or at least most of her was. And she was still very, very conscious.

He stopped, stared down at her and blocked her view of anything else but him. She could barely make eye contact, instead opting to stare at the blackness of his robes.

“I didn’t like what you did her, Olive. I don’t like people who lie and I certainly don’t like people who grasp for power they don’t have. For power…” His wand stroked upward, and with it her head turned to face him–unable to look away now, held in place by his magic. The fear in the dark, blown pupils of her eyes. The glassy look they took on. She could speak, but she didn’t. Instead, she grew paler.

“Power doesn’t work the way you think it does. It’s not something that has to be maintained.” He shook his head, stooping lower so he was nearly level with her. “You are powerless, Olive Hornby. You will not touch her again.”

He stood to his full height and straightened his robes, stowing his wand away. Fingers running through his hair as he backed away.

“Consider this a warning.”

He did not return her mobility until he was far away from that corridor.

‡‡‡

April blew in with the biggest snowstorm of the school year. And along with it, a frenzy over the approaching exams that were now only two months away. 

“I know not all of you are looking to continue with transfigurations come next year, although I hope you will.” Professor Dumbledore said with a wink, grinning as he looked over the classroom. “But nevertheless! It is worth it to try your best on your O.W.L.’s. And I’m here to equip you for that as best as I can. So!” He clapped his hands together. “Vanishing spells.”

A chorus of groans followed as the professor turned to face his desk. “I know, I know. I’m sure the older students have told you horror stories, and most of them are probably true. But that’s why we start small.”

Professor Dumbledore turned around, holding a candle in his palm. “You have all been given a candle–much like this one–that you will practice on.”

Elizabeth looked down at her desk, there was nothing there. She looked over at the space in front of her desk mate, a girl called Charlotte. There was nothing there either. Glancing around the room, she found the rest of the class in a similar state of confusion.

“Ah yes! How silly of me…” Professor Dumbledore took his wand and– a short, thick candle appeared in front of each of them.

A few students clapped, most just gasped.

Dumbledore quieted them, “Let’s have a look at the etymology, evanesco. When we say that–”

The classroom door flew open behind them, and an incredibly disgruntled Olive Hornby clambered in.

Her hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail, wearing barely any makeup from the look of her pale face and the dark circles under her eyes. She looked tired, muttering an apology to the professor as she hastily found her seat. Elizabeth watched her all the way until she took a seat, only vaguely comprehending Dumbledore’s reassurances as he moved on with the lecture.

A rock had made landing in her stomach, and it had splashed up painful acid in its wake.

Something was very, very wrong. And she had the sinking feeling that somehow–it was her fault. She could feel him looking at her, eyes burning into her left profile. Her grip on her quill was tightening. If she didn’t release the pressure it would snap.

She finally glanced at him, her eyes meeting his from across the room. The glowing fire in his dark eyes, tethered to hers. His jaw set, and his knuckles white. Was he angry? Did he think she had done something?

Worse yet, had he?

Her brow furrowed slightly, shaking her head at him. Trying desperately to communicate with him. Please, Riddle. Please, no.

Riddle didn’t move, he gave no signal that he had understood her and certainly no message back. He only stared.

Elizabeth swallowed painfully and looked back at Professor Dumbledore. Seeing his movements as he worked them through the meaning of the spell, but not hearing his words. It was as if she had been shoved underwater, a hazy blur that slowed everything down.

The class had already begun to practice the spell.

She picked up her wand. And stared at the candle. Glancing between its waxy film and the back of Olive’s downcast head. She closed her eyes and steeled herself, attempting to focus her mind on the spell and the spell alone.

E-V-A-N-E-S-C-O

A simple, swooping down motion of the wand.

She gave it a go.

Nothing.  

She recited the incantation more fluidly in a whisper, this time imagining she were erasing the candle with one of the muggle rubber eraser’s she used to use in primary school.

“Evanesco.”

The candle faded away.

“Merlin…” The girl beside her whispered. “You did it.”

Elizabeth didn’t think Charlotte had spoken that loudly, but soon enough there were heads around the room turned towards her. She could only stare motionless at the now empty table.

A hand on shoulder brought her back to reality.

“Excellent work, Elizabeth.” Professor Dumbledore spoke lowly and with a gentle pat, praise meant only for her. He continued to the rest of the class, “Well, I can’t say I’ve ever had a student master a vanishing spell so quickly! But do not let this dissuade you all, keep at it. You have plenty of time to learn. That’ll be all, class dismissed.”

Wooden chairs scraped against the stone floor as students gathered their materials, chatting with friends. Elizabeth did not move so fast, trying to watch Olive as best she could. Only Olive was moving slowly as well, Augustine and Enola cooing around her, rubbing her back and gathering her things for her as they whispered.

But as the room emptied, she quickly realized that she most certainly didn’t want to be left alone with the three girls–even if it meant not finding out why she was in such a state. And besides, she had a sinking feeling that there was someone else who knew exactly why.

She didn’t have to look far to find him.

He stood a ways off, in a shadowed corner of the corridor but still visible. Leaning casually against the wall, as if it were only a matter of time before she found him.

She set straight for him, grabbing his sleeve and dragging him behind a tapestry covered alcove.

“What did you do?” She seethed up at him, his white shirt sleeve still gripped tightly in her left hand.

“I didn’t do anything,” He countered, ripping his arm away.

“Did you hurt her? Did you hurt Olive?”

“No.” He said plainly.

“Don’t lie to me,” she spoke with fierce intensity, looking up into his eyes and refusing to look away.

“I rarely do.” His casualness infuriated her.

She let out an airy laugh and stepped back against the wall of the arch, crossing her arms over her chest. Seething and staring at the back of the tapestry but saying nothing.

What could she possibly say if he was going to be so uncooperative?

Tom stepped back to lean against the opposite wall, and much to her surprise–continued the conversation.

“All I did was threaten her a little. That’s all.” He spoke as if they were discussing a quidditch match or a study guide for charms.

She looked from the tapestry to him and gaped. “That’s all? And how did you go about that?”

“The logistics don’t concern you.”

Elizabeth shook her head, feeling more nauseous by the minute as the implications hit her. “Well, I never asked you to.”

Tom responded quickly, “You didn’t have to. We have an agreement…and she hurt you.”

And he was right.

She had made an agreement with him. More than that, she was upholding her half–and now he was picking up the other end.

Suddenly, she recognized the sickly feeling inside of her for what it was.

Guilt.

“Well…I don’t want you to. I change my mind.”

For some reason, this amused him. His slight smirk and that tell-tale gleam in his dark eyes. But not as dark as they usually were. Not with the radiant shine of the sunlight hitting them from the window of the alcove. Specks of sugary gold–like the fired top of a Crème Brulee. Like the ones she would get from that little French restaurant near the park as a child. Crisp sugar on top, buttery cream just below. Why on earth–

Elizabeth looked away quickly, caught off guard by her train of thought.

He stepped away from the wall, just barely moving forward but somehow she could already feel his heat.

“No… I don’t think you do.”

She gave no response, no hint that she had even heard him. She only stared out the window.

“You should have seen her. The fear, she shook with it.”

Another step closer.

“She shouldn’t be a problem anymore. If she is, I have far worse tricks up my sleeve. And besides, it wasn’t just for you…”

Another.

Her breath caught. Mere inches separated them now, she could feel his breath on her neck. Elizabeth swallowed thickly, almost painfully.

He spoke so close to her skin, a whispered secret. “I liked it.”

She inhaled sharply. “You didn’t have to.” Her words were rushed and breathy.

The smallest pause, another warm breath against her skin that sent gooseflesh across her arms and down the small of her back. And lowly still, “I wanted to.”

Cold, nimble fingers brushed her wrist. He slowly picked it up and both their eyes fell to skin that only last night had been mangled and purple with bruising. Skin, that he had healed.

“Does it hurt?” His whispered words softer than his previous.

“No,” she answered honestly.

She looked up at his face, his eyes not leaving her wrist, still holding it gently in his hand.

“Thank you,” she added. Even then, unsure of which part she was thanking him for.

Tom looked to her, sending a jolt through her when his Crème Brulee eyes met hers again.

“Next time I’ll let you watch.” He said with a smirk. Elizabeth could barely think to respond.

He dropped her hands and stepped away, severing something between them and lifting her to the surface again.

“How’s the map?” He asked, rolling the sleeves of his uniform shirt.

Elizabeth was taken aback by his ability to just–switch. Did he not need a breather like she did? Was he not gasping–

“Good,” She nodded. Brushing off her skirt and fixing the sleeve of her sweater over her wrists. “Finished detailing the main floor, started on the second.”

Tom nodded, a curt and dutiful nod as if he were taking an order. “Good.”

Her eyes bounced around the alcove, not seeming to land on one thing in particular.

Good. Good. Good.

“Anything–”

“I should go.”

She nodded quickly, shoving the question she was going to ask deep down. “Right, yes. Me too.”

She was getting rather tired of him being the one to walk away, of having to watch his back as he went. So, before he could go, she pushed the thick tapestry aside and made her escape. Hand over her chest as she breathed in the air that was somehow much thinner outside of that little alcove.

Chapter Text

Psychosis.

She’d read about it briefly in a muggle book a few summers back.

A rather mystical word–as if it should be a spell. And yet...it was muggle.

The word ruminated in her mind as she tore through the shelves. She found nothing in her search for answers, some sort of explanation for the episodes she suffered from.

A vehement skeptic of seers, she had even looked through a few divination textbooks.

But she hadn’t predicted anything, the things she saw weren’t prophecies.

They were incoherent and scrambled, flashes of all things dark and bloody. There were no names or faces, at least not human ones. And all she had to fall back on was that word.

What was it she had read? A theory proposed by German Doctor Karl Friedrich, a state of psychic neurosis. The Hogwarts library was incredibly vast, filled with works that far outdated any previous notion of civilization and written language. But it was lacking in anything regarding muggle theories of psychology, or anything related to the scientific workings of the mind for that matter. She found nothing, and the word was left to plague her mind.

Psychosis, psychosis, psychotic.

Perhaps her mother was right, maybe she really had been mad all along.

She needed to get out of her head, she needed to not be alone. But her only friend was no where in sight.

Estella had developed a habit of disappearing after dinner for hours on end. In fact, Elizabeth barely saw her friend at all lately now that she was officially courting George.

Elizabeth felt…she felt angry. And she knew she had no right. Estella and George had been in love with each other for years. They were her friends, and she was infinitely happy for them.

She also felt abandoned.

Estella had always had other friends, always had George. Estella was all that Elizabeth had ever had. Without her, she was entirely alone. So she took to wandering the school corridors at night. That time just before and after curfew was the best for working on the map. She knew pathways that avoided students and paintings alike.

Her favourite pathway was one that led to a little alcove on the second floor. There was a wide ledge along the window beneath a beautiful stain-glass of a medieval witch. Panels of various shades of blue formed her dress, a dress that faded into the pools of a dark lake. The woman’s expression was unreadable. There were days when Elizabeth thought she looked sad, but there were others when her soft lips and down turned eyes appeared powerful, elegant.

Elizabeth sat down on the ledge, gathering her skirt and pressing against the cold panels. She could almost feel the harsh highland winds.

No matter what the witch’s emotion was, Elizabeth felt it. The woman had become a sort of idol for her, a place where she could hide and not feel so alone. A place where she could cry.

Face turned toward the window and blanketed by darkness, she let tears stream silently down her face. She was going mad. She was going mad, and everyone had abandoned her again.

She sniffled and wiped her nose against the wrist of her sweater, pulling her robes tighter around her as the alcove grew suddenly colder.  

“Hello.”

Elizabeth startled. It was an eerie call, an unearthly voice. It made every hair on her body stand on edge, turning to find a woman in the alcove.

Woman–she had once been a woman. Now the silver moonlight pierced right through her floating form. She wore ancient robes that did not quite brush the floor, her expression strikingly familiar.

Many ghosts filled the walls of Hogwarts, apparitions were an everyday thing for a Hogwarts student. But Elizabeth had never seen this woman before.

“Hello,” Elizabeth echoed, her voice strained as she brushed the tears from her cheek and straightened.

“I see you’ve found my window…not many students come here.”

Her window. Her-

The woman before her was the woman shown in the panels. No wonder she looked so familiar.

“I’m sorry,” Elizabeth rushed. “I didn’t know it was yours.”

“There’s no need,” The ghost smiled softly. “I do not often have guests. But you have been here many times.”

The woman had soft features, high cheekbones and delicate lips. Regal and posed. But underneath it...

“It’s beautiful.”

The ghost’s sad eyes moved behind Elizabeth to stare at the window. “Yes, I think so too.”

Elizabeth moved to stand. “I don’t mean to intrude–”

“It is no intrusion, girl. I feel something of this portrait within you. It’s a good place to cry. I do too.”

“Who are you?” Elizabeth asked hesitantly.

Was that insensitive to ask a ghost? Should she have asked who they had been? 

If she had offended the ghost, she did not let it show. “I am Helena Ravenclaw.”

Helena Ravenclaw. Daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw, founder of her very own house. It was well known that Helena Ravenclaw roamed Hogwarts as a ghost, but she was rarely seen. They called her the Grey Lady. 

“I am…I am a Ravenclaw.” It was a stupid thing to say, why would she say that–

But the ghost only smiled. “Yes, I see that. Perhaps that is why this little alcove calls to you too. What is your name girl?”

“Elizabeth.”

“Elizabeth,” The ghost echoed. Somehow, the name sounded much more ancient and beautiful coming from her. “I am very glad to meet you.”

‡‡‡

Abraxas was annoyed, and he had no right to be.

“You were messy.” He repeated, glaring at Riddle as he lay back on his bed. “Everyone agrees, Tom.”

Tom scoffed, shrugging his robes off. “I’m not messy. You only see it because you’re looking for it.”

“It’s been days, Tom. And Olive can still barely function. When something happens to the most popular girl in school, people notice. Tom–you’ve punched too high!”

Riddle ripped his belt from his pant loops rather violently.

“FUCKING SAKE,” He bellowed. “Why do you feel the need to say that name all the god damned time?!”

Abraxas stood from his bed. “Because it’s your name, Tom! And eventually you’re going to have to end this fucking fantasy you’ve created.” He looked towards Nicholas in desperation, “Avery!”

Nicholas Avery looked up from his book, pretending to look oblivious. “Oh–well… No, I’m staying out of this.”

Abraxas rolled his eyes, dragging a hand down his face. White blond hair weighed down by sweat, he shook his head and left.

Tom’s chest heaved in a fruitless attempt to control his breathing. He rubbed his eyes, “I’m not fucking messy.”

He turned to Nicholas, and said it again. “I’m not.”

Nicholas didn’t hesitate. “I don’t think you are! Abraxas is just… you know how his father is. He’s always thinking about how things might look for him, always worried about how it might reflect on their family. It’s just how he is.”

Riddle nearly vibrated with anger, and he hated it.

He didn’t want to boil he wanted to simmer. To feel–but not allow his emotions to overcome him. He breathed in deeply and exhaled softly. He wrung his hands and crackled his knuckles, shoulders hunched around him.

Once upon a time, when Mrs. Cole had not yet grown to fear him, when Tom was merely an orphaned child– she had sat him down and taught him a calming method.

“Alright, Tommy,” She soothed as she ran a hand down his back. “Sit down and take a big deep breath with me.”

 Her cooing made him angry, he didn’t like the way she talked to him. He was stronger than her, she didn’t understand.

“In…and out. Let’s do it again, one more time.”

Tom followed along but kept a fierce glare piercing towards her.

“Now close your eyes and I want you to picture somewhere peaceful. Somewhere nice.”

Tom closed his eyes and pathetically–he tried to think of somewhere…nice.

His room was nice, especially now that he didn’t have to share it with anyone. The perks of turning 5, or so Mrs. Cole had told him. He liked the solitude. But it wasn’t peaceful, you are only granted so much peace when you are locked in a cage.

His eyes opened and he spoke dully, “I don’t know anywhere nice.”

Mrs. Cole’s warm brown eyes softened. “Of course, you do. Think of the sea where we go in the summer. Think of how nice it is to watch the waves hit the rocks. So much to explore!”

But Tom didn’t particularly like the sea. The water was too much, far to extensive and far too deep. It made him feel small and insignificant. To look out on the horizon of the ocean and not know where it ended was a terrifying thing. And yet–he had found solace along that seaside. There was a vast cave system throughout the rocky cliffside. Tom had easily explored them until he found his favorite.

From ceiling to floor, it was covered in crystals. Dark and eerie but pulsing with energy. The pools weren’t so deep, and you were cut off from the harsh winds. But most of all, it was quiet. So far away from the beach, you couldn’t hear the other children. Only the melodic crashing of waves, and the faint whistling of wind.

The cave seemed to know only him. It accepted his power, it welcomed his presence. And perched along the highest peak in that cave... he felt as if all the world were below him–bowed at his feet.

Yes, that was a peaceful, nice place.

‡‡‡

Abraxas seethed as he stormed out of the Slytherin common room. His vision a blur of red, he wasn’t quite sure where he was walking. Preferably outside if he could manage to avoid any prefects or teachers. Cold air would be good.

Tom Riddle was…Tom was more than a brother to Abraxas. For a long time, he had considered his friend the person who knew him best. It was why he had invited Tom to spend part of the summer with him and his family at the manor last year, after Tom had confided the details of his upbringing with him. But now…now Tom felt more and more like a stranger to Abraxas. Or maybe it was Abraxas who was the stranger.

He trudged up a rounding staircase and down a hallway. Passing dark alcove after alcove, paintings eyeing him suspiciously as he went. Merlin–he’d forgotten about the paintings.

Abraxas ducked to the darker side of the corridor in an attempt to camouflage himself, walking faster until a flash of iridescent blue and white flashed in the corner of his eye.

His feet stopped abruptly, retracing his steps and peering down the hallway that extended to the side.

A ghostly woman, long brown hair and a translucent dress dripping from her body. She floated inches above the stone floor, peering down at the girl beside her with a somber expression. He didn’t know the ghost, but he knew the girl.

The same girl who had delivered him the note for Tom, the muggle born.

She sat on the ledge of a tall stain glass window, the bright moonlight breaking through the glass panes and making them both appear hauntingly ominous. The spoke in hushed voices, the girl pausing to eagerly listen to the ghost. The ghost spoke slowly, her words unhurried and sad.

Abraxas stood still, not wanting to move and alert them to his presence. Who was this girl? Speaking to ghosts well after curfew was very, very odd.

His anonymity did not last long. The girl glanced down the hallway at him and met his eye.

Abraxas’s breath caught. He quickly stepped away and held his back to the cold stones, just out of view. Struggling to catch his breath, he pushed himself further into the wall. He could hear their hushed words and then the sound of footsteps inching closer to him. Wanting to avoid her before she could get to him, he pushed himself up and ran back towards the dungeons.

What exactly did Tom Riddle want with a muggle-born girl who talked to ghosts?

Chapter Text

Leaving her bed to meet with the grey lady in the late hours of the night had become routine. Elizabeth found an immense amount of comfort in being able to confide in the woman. Somehow, she understood her sadness. Elizabeth shared things she had never shared before. Her mother most of all. And to her surprise, Helena shared similar stories of abandonment… and fear.

They shared loneliness, and cleverness as well. Helena explained that she too had loved the Hogwarts library. There had been less books then, mostly manuscripts with intricate pictures depicting the power of various magicks, the elements of alchemy, and poition-making.

But last night Abraxas Malfoy had seen her. A student speaking with a ghost was not uncommon. A student out past curfew wasn’t uncommon either. Nevertheless, Elizabeth couldn’t seem to shake the look in the boys eye. He looked at her with such disgust, but also a hint of curiosity.

She had no reason to fear the Malfoy boy. And yet fear lingered in the pit of her stomach the entirety of the next day.

Would he tell Riddle? Would it even matter?

She had never noticed the Malfoy boy before-now she saw him everywhere. He never once looked at her, and she was positive her stare was unavoidable. His avoidance was intentional. It probably took more effort than just looking at her.

Elizabeth sat at breakfast in the great hall. It was later than she normally ate. Estella and George were deep in conversation, Estella forcing cups of creamed pumpkin juice down George’s throat every few minutes. Elizabeth smiled, but made no effort to join in on their conversation. She was doing her best to not look towards Abraxas.

But someone was watching her. And when she looked, it wasn’t Abraxas.

Toms dark gaze met hers from across the hall. He was stiff and hunched over with his forearms against the table.

That familiar feeling of pressure filled her head, crushing and prodding.

Fine, two could play this game.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and centered her mind. She pushed away any other thought or memory and shoved them behind a wall, placing only one thought at the forefront.

Opening her eyes, she looked straight at him and dropped the curtain of her consciousness.

Hello, Riddle.

Even from across the room, she saw his eyes flash.

Elizabeth focused her gaze and set her intention on Riddles mind, reaching out and grasping it with her magic. She met walls, even thicker than hers.

A second later, a single thought slipped through.

Speaking to ghosts, Warren?

Her walls slammed shut and she closed her eyes to cut off the connection. She would not allow him to see anything she didn’t want him to. Finally she settled on something.

She opened her eyes and handed a thought to him.

I think you’ll find that no one else knows this castle better.

Is it finished?

It’s finished.

Something in Riddle’s posture transformed. Like a snake shedding it’s skin. He straightened and the look he gave her made her skin tingle with ice.

Meet me after curfew.

Where?

Somewhere we can talk without being disturbed.

Elizabeth thought for a moment, calling on all the knowledge she gained over the past few weeks. Alcoves and classrooms didn’t guarantee long term privacy.

The second-floor girls’ lavatory.

Riddle blanched and looked at her appallingly. Elizabeth couldn’t help but smirk.

It’s abandoned. The sinks don’t work and the toilets flood, no one goes there.

Riddle appeared to think it over before he hesitantly handed over a thought. 

Fine.

Elizabeth smiled.

Fine.

She looked away and every wall slammed shut.

Their ability to communicate from across the great hall should have alarmed her. It didn’t. In fact, she sort of liked it. Reading someone’s thoughts through legitimacy was different than speaking. It was more personal, as if you could feel them-not just hear them. She liked the way his words felt. 

Riddle appeared in the second floor girls lavatory just curfew. He looked completely collected, as if waltzing into a girls bathroom was something he did most days. 

It was dark outside, meaning the only form of light came from a few small lanterns along the wall. It sent a dim, warm glow across the room. Just barely enough to see him. Neither of them made any effort to cast more light.

Elizabeth flicked her wand and drew the map from her leather bag. Chin held high, she handed it to him. He took it, and with long, nimble fingers he unfolded the parchment.

He stared at it with blank expression. “This is only the first floor.”

Elizabeth leaned forward and gently tapped the tip of her wand against the paper. Parchment panels peeled back to reveal a drawn-out print of the second floor.

Riddle granted her only the most fleeting look of approval. He gave the map a final look before folding it up and meeting her eye. “Don’t go talking about the chamber with ghosts either.”

So, he was still on about this chamber...

“I haven’t.”

Riddle slid the map between a stack of textbooks. A part of her was sad to see it go after so many weeks of work.

“How is this map going to help?”

Riddle shrugged. “Easier to track the places we have looked-the things we’ve found.”

“We?” Elizabeth’s eyes widened.

“We still have a deal, don’t we?” He leaned against the sink behind him casually, long legs stretched out in front of him. 

Of course, slipping from the clutches of Tom Riddle would not be so easy.

“We still haven’t found the chamber…” The corner of his mouth curled up into a devilish grin. “And I fancy messing with some Ravenclaw girls.”

Elizabeth tensed and looked away.

“Oh, come on,” Riddle taunted. From the corner of her eye, she could see him move closer. His voice was dark and low, venom in every word. “I think you’d like it.”

His words affected every piece of her–down to the very cells of her body, the atoms of her matter. Her skin flushed with heat, but she didn’t look at him.

“They’ve left me alone. You did your part.” She managed to force the words out.

“My part wasn’t to make them leave you alone.”

She blinked and finally looked at him. He was much closer than she had thought. She could almost feel the heat of his body. He looked down at her, the flickering glow of a lantern casting fire into his dark brown eyes. A black, tousled curl fell across his forehead.

He shook his head slowly, “It was to make them hurt.”

Gods, Goddesses, and Merlin above…she had vowed him her absolute commitment. But let it be known that this–she would do freely.

There was no missing the lack of hesitancy or fear in her eyes, not when there was instead a glimmer of excitement. Was it not the same glimmer that had led her to this agreement in the first place? Was it not the very thing that kept her tethered to him?

“That excites you,” he breathed. The air around Riddle seemed to sing with pleasure. “You and I are not so different, Warren.”

“How would we do it?”

“How ever you want. Whatever you can think of–I assure you, darling–it will not be too much for me.”

Darling. Darling. Darling.

“I think I know how.”

His lips curled back in a grin.

‡‡‡

It was unfortunate that Augustine Selwyn had a cat. A scraggly little brown cat that liked to growl at everything and everyone. It was also unfortunate that the aforementioned cat liked to wander the Ravenclaw common room at night.

Elizabeth tapped the bronze, eagle door knocker as gently as possible. It’s beak dropped open:“I fill a room but take up no space. What am I?”

Before Elizabeth had a moment to think on it, Riddle answered.

“Light.”

The eagle’s beak closed and the door cracked open.

Elizabeth blinked and looked up at Riddle.

“What? You didn’t really thing that Ravenclaw was the smartest house, did you? Pathetic really…” He whispered harshly.

Elizabeth went in first, sticking only her head in to survey the room. It was completely empty, the only light coming from the enchanted stars along the ceiling and the dim light of a dying fire. She turned and beckoned Riddle inside.

“It’s almost always–ah, there it is!” She whispered as she spotted a mess of brown fur curled up under a chair. But Elizabeth made no movement towards it.

“Go on then, grab it.” Riddle huffed frustratedly. 

“Oh no, that thing is a menace. I’m not picking it up. It’ll scratch my eyes out.” Elizabeth said, shaking her head and taking a step back.

“Oh please, it’s only a cat.”

Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest and looked up at him. “Fine, you do it then. If it’s only a cat.”

Riddle gave her a look of disgust, as if he had never been asked to do anything in his life.

“Afraid of cat’s Riddle?” Elizabeth taunted in a sing-song whisper.

“Of course not,” Riddle scoffed.

“Well then go on.” She gestured toward the animal.

Riddle gave her an icy glare and scowled. Nevertheless, he took a step forward.

Their whispers had woken the creature, and now it stared at Riddle with narrowed yellow eyes. As Riddle moved closer, a low growl began to vibrate as it stood on all fours and arched its back. He reached forward to grab it and–the cat let out a hiss, sharp teeth on show.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

The cat froze, still in its arched position but with a look of shock on its face.

Riddle huffed, slipping his wand into his robes. “Bloody awful animal, should’ve petrified it in the first place.”

He turned around to look at her, “Where do they sleep?”

Olive Hornby, Augustine Selwyn, and Enola Dyer woke up the next morning to a cat floating paralyzed in the middle of the room. Elizabeth was certain that everyone in Ravenclaw tower heard their screams. The cat was perfectly fine, the petrification wore off before the girls had a chance to reverse it. But waking to a petrified, floating cat was surely an unfortunate sight in the early morning. 

Augustine cried the entirety of lunch that day–none of them had been at breakfast. Elizabeth didn't even try to hide her grin. Estella and George didn't even notice. 

But surprisingly, Olive looked up from consoling her friend and caught her eye. Elizabeth's grin disappeared instantly. Unlike the fierce glares Olive had always given her, full of loathing and disgust, Olive looked wary and afraid. Her gaze was unsure and hesitant–suddenly flickering to the other side of the room towards... 

Riddle was staring right back at Olive. His jaw tense as he glared at her through hooded eyes. Elizabeth watched as Olive's body language transformed. Shoulders caving in and eyes falling to the table before her, inching closer to her sobbing friend. 

When she looked back at Riddle, he was looking at her. Whatever his eyes had held before–nothing of it remained. A dimple pressed into his cheek as he grinned at her–eyes ablaze with something that felt like silvery death. 

Elizabeth smiled, and wondered if her eyes mirrored something of that darkness back. 

Chapter Text

Professor Kettleburns lead them outside for class that day–which was never a good sign. They all walked to groundskeepers hut where four wooden crates sat on the grass. The closer they got, the stronger the smell of rotting fish became.

Professor Kettleburns stood rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, twiddling his thumbs and looking very excited. “Today we will be examining Blast-Ended Skrewts!”

A chorus of mumbling erupted from the crowd of students. No one was very pleased. 

“Fear not, you won’t bet touching them. Instead I will pair each of you up and you will identify all the characteristics that you can.” He began pointing to students, and one by one the crowd thinned as they began to work.

He gestured to Elizabeth, “Elizabeth! I want you to work with Rubeus.”

The abnormally large boy gave her a crooked and cheeky smile. “Hullo.”

“Hi, Rubeus.” She smiled back, taking the sheet of paper full of questions from the professor. “Shall I do the writing for us?”

“Oh yeah, me handwritings quite poor. But I do know a bit o’bout skrewts.”

Elizabeth rather liked Rubeus Hagrid. He was a quiet and clumsy boy–mostly because of his size. He towered over every other student, and most of the teachers too. His accent was thick and heavy on the r’s. He was also very passionate about magical creatures. It wasn’t uncommon for some sort of animal to crawl out of his pockets during class. Rubeus was a social outcast. But so was Elizabeth. And she liked him.

There was no one better to be partnered with in Care of Magical Creatures. He knew far more Blast-Ended Skrewts than Professor Kettleburn was asking for. Elizabeth wrote it down anyways.

“They fight each other, kenna have ‘em in crates like this. See there,” He pointed at a pile of Skrewed, crawling and biting at one another. It was a bit ghastly. “Terrible idea. But I suppose you don’t wann’em on the students either.”

“No, definitely not.” Elizabeth agreed, finally managing to tear her eyes away from the almost cannibalistic scene before them.

‡‡‡

Riddle and Elizabeth arranged to meet every night after dinner in the library. And every night, Riddle was there first–a stack of books already compiled before him.

“I wish there was more information on previous searches. All it says is that there was a search, not what they searched or what they found.” Riddle said roughly, snapping a book shut.

He was terribly angry all the time. It must be exhausting, she thought. 

“What about a description of the chamber itself?” She asked, attempting to shift the conversation to something more productive.

“Nothing. Just that there is a chamber, it’s well hidden, and meant to hold some sort of creature.”

A creature? Elizabeth was positive he had never mentioned this before.

She wandered the aisle and reshelved books the non-magical way as she went.

“Some sort of creature–could be any size–but it would have to be something important. Think about it, the purpose of the chamber was to maintain the blood purity of the school.” She shivered. “It only makes sense that the creature would have to do with that.”

Riddle nodded thoughtfully. “It would also have to be a thousand years old.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Right.”

She came to sit down beside him. “But doesn’t that narrow things down a bit? I don’t know that many creatures that live to be a thousand years old.”

Riddle shrugged. “Maybe.” His right leg was shaking up and down. It was a nervous habit of his that she had noticed. And for some reason, rather than annoy her, it made her sad.

She carefully placed her fingertips on his knee, a mere brush against his trousers. Riddle blinked at her and his leg stopped moving. 

“I’ll do some research tomorrow. I might know someone who could answer that question.”

He didn’t say anything, only sat and stared at her. She smiled slightly and stood up, her hand leaving his leg as she did. She went back to finish re-stacking the pile of books, and when she looked back he was gone. The table empty of any of his research materials.

The next day, Elizabeth purposefully sought out Rubeus. For such a large boy, he was surprisingly difficult to find. After asking a few people, she finally spotted him crouched beside the Black Lake. She trotted down the rolling hills, wrapping her robes tighter around her to block out the cold evening air of late march.

He was barefoot in the shallows of the lake, carefully sifting through the water. It must have been freezing.

She cleared her throat and spoke gently so as not to frighten him. “Hello, Rubeus.”

He looked over his shoulder in surprise. “Oh–Didna see ya there, Elizabeth.” He stood up, the hem of his too-short-pants brushing against the water.

“I was looking for you. I have a question about–about magical creatures. I was hoping you might be able to help me.”

His eyes lit up. “O’course! I’ll answer me best as I can.”

Elizabeth smiled! “Wonderful! Aren’t you cold?”

He looked down as if he hadn’t realized he was standing barefoot in a freezing cold lake. “No, not really.” Nevertheless, he took a step out from the water to stand on the grass.

“Are there any creatures that live…a very long time?” She asked hesitantly. 

Rubeus looked thoughtful, “How long are we talkin’? Pheonix’s are s’ppose to be immortal if that’s wut ya mean.”

A phoenix…probably not in Salazar Slytherin’s taste.

“Not necessarily immortal…what about a thousand years?”

“Some water creature’s ken be old lite that, squids ‘n such…”

A squid, or something that could live in water. That would make sense. Elizabeth’s mind flashed with images of the pipes that ran through the castle. Perhaps it was so difficult to find the chamber…because it was all around them, impossible to separate from the castle itself. It was an idea for sure…

Hagrid hadn’t stopped listing off different types of aquatic animals that might live a thousand years.

“…a basilisk will’na live a thousand years–but almost. Rare things, basilisks. Illegal to breed ‘em. Course that don’t stop some folks–”

Elizabeth’s ears immediately perked up.

“A…basilisk?”  

When Rubeus nodded, his entire upper body moved with him in a giant heave. “Massive serpents. Ken only make ‘em by hatching a chicken egg under a toad. Verrrry deadly, just lookin’ at one’ll kill ya dead.”

Elizabeth nodded, biting the insides of her cheeks raw.

Salazar Slytherin had been a parselmouth. She knew that for certain. The couldn't ignore the eerie feeling sinking in her stomach. 

‡‡‡

It started around her ankles. Encircling them and ever so slightly tightening. Sliding up her legs. Cold and slimy.

Then they were around her wrists and slithering up her arms. They were everywhere, dozens of them. Multiplying by the minute as they covered her. Crawling all over her skin, up her stomach and over her chest.

She wanted to scream, she wanted to move and throw them off.

But she couldn’t move.

She was paralyzed on the bed–her eyes stuck wide open. Her skin tingled with panic as one slithered over her neck, encircling it. Tightening. Tightening. Her air ways were closing up, vision dotted with block spots as she felt consciousness slip from her.

Then her vision went dark, the slimy body of a serpent sliding over her eyes and sending her into darkness. She was completely covered now, not a single inch of skin exposed to air.

Tightening, tightening, tightening–she couldn’t breathe.

She would die. She would die. She would–

Elizabeth sat up with a violent and ragged gasp. Her heart beating against her chest in a harsh pounding. She could feel her entire body covered in beads of sweat and–

She looked down.

Snakes were crawling over her legs and bedspread. Dozens of snakes.

A scream ripped through her as she tore the sheet away, flinging the slimy creatures from her skin with shaking hands.

The girls in the surrounding beds all woke, Elizabeth only vaguely aware of their concerned grumbles as they tore away their bed curtains.

But she couldn’t stop screaming, and soon enough her own sounds combined with the screams of the other girls.

“OH MY GOD!!” Jasmine was screaming, pulling her duvet up to her chin as she stood up in bed.

Margaret was clinging to her bed post and crying. “I hate snakes!”

Elizabeth stood staring at the snakes covering her bed with wide eyes. Her body was shaking so violently she felt she might burst.

Estella was saying something. Something about getting–getting Professor Merrythought? Why would she do that?

Her thoughts were moving so fast, she couldn’t seem to catch up. Suddenly, she bolted from the room–tearing open the door and flying down the stairs. She was running. It was the middle of the night, early morning perhaps. The night was at its darkest and she was moving so fast down the dark halls.

She didn’t know where she was going. Only that her legs kept moving, chest heaving with every breath as she pushed forward with every ounce of energy could muster. Fuelled by adrenaline with every barefoot step against the stone floor. Faster, faster, faster–

Her body collided with another.

“Hmph,” A deep voice grumbled at the collision.

Elizabeth tried to steady her breathing as big hands settled on her shoulders–pushing her body away from theirs.

Professor Dumbledore stared down at her with concerned eyes.

“Ms. Warren?” He said gently, glancing over her shaking body in confusion. “What's the matter child? Are you alright?”

Elizabeth couldn’t find words. Only stared up at him in shock.

His eyes suddenly moved from her to look at something behind her.

“Mr. Riddle,” He said with surprise.

Elizabeth blinked and looked over her shoulder. Sure enough, Riddle stood barefoot in plaid green pajama pants and an unbuttoned white shirt. His hair was a tousled mess, his eyes tired and confused but filled with unmistakable rage. She could see the heavy rise and fall of his chest, as if he too had run here.

Elizabeth suddenly felt Dumbledore’s arm wrap around her shoulders as he pulled her into his body. “What is the meaning of this?” He looked down at her. “Are you alright, Elizabeth?”

“Professor–” She began shakily.

But the sound of another voice and quick footsteps cut her off.

“Albus, you’d better come quickly.” Professor Merrythought’s spoke with urgency. She held a dress robe around her body, Estella’s frightened form standing beside her.

Professor Dumbledore’s arm left her body as he went to Professor Merrythought.

The female professor rushed to explain the situation, "Some students have placed dozens of snakes in Ms. Warren's bed."

Estella cutt in to elaborate as the three of them walked towards Ravenclaw tower.

Riddle and Elizabeth remained frozen. She glanced at him, suddenly acutely aware of her thin, white nightgown and his open shirt. She looked away quickly–staring at the now empty dark hallway and the sound of fading voices.

Riddle spoke first.

 “Are you alright?” His voice was quiet and held something she had never heard in him before. Hesitancy.

Elizabeth looked at him with flushed cheeks and nodded. Her hands found the hem of her nightgown and clutched at it, a fruitless attempt to cover herself more.

Step by step he grew closer. Could he hear her heart? Surely he could. By Merlin–he could probably see it, the way it moved in her chest with such force. Why was he here? He was so close now, nearly pressed against her. She could feel the warmth of his breath.

His voice was low, impossibly low. So dark and filled with hatred it was almost a growl.

“Do you want me to kill them?”

Elizabeth blinked.

Kill them? Kill who?

She stared up at him, lips parted in confusion. She frowned and shook her head slightly, “What–”

“I will, just say the word and I will.”

Suddenly the pieces fit together. Of course… of course. This was vengeance.

Olive Hornby wasn’t going down without a fight.

But Tom–something told her his words were not just for show. They weren’t a lie or an exaggeration. He would. For her…he might.

“How did you know?” She asked softly.

“I saw it.”

Her brow creased. “How?”

“I don’t know.”

Elizabeth looked away, deep in thought.

The feel of cold fingers brushing against hers brought her back. She looked down at where his hand met hers. Was Tom Riddle–holding her hand? She stared down at it in shock and then looked back up at him. His touch was gentle, almost cautious.

“You’re alright?” He asked again, voice softer.

“Yes.” She whispered.

His eyes moved over her face, and he gave a slight nod.

“You’ll never feel like that again.”

Elizabeth wasn’t quite sure what he meant. She nodded anyways and inhaled shakily. Her heart had slowed with his touch, and with it her mind began to process what had happened. The fear, the terror. Her eyes grew wet, but she refused to let a single tear fall.

 And then–she was wrapped in Riddle’s arms. He was hugging her. It was… odd, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to do it. His arms wrapped awkwardly around her shoulders.

But it was nice.

She’d been deprived of physical affection for her entire life, and because of that it had never been something she craved. But this–she liked.

She gripped him back, face pressed against his warm, bare skin and eyes clenched tight to hold back her tears.

Finally, he pulled away and took her hand again. Without a word, they walked down the hallway and up towards the Ravenclaw tower. Bare feet falling in sync with every step they took. When they approached the door to the common room, it opened. Professor Merrythought and Dumbledore stepped out. Riddle gently let go of her hand.

“Ah! Elizabeth,” Dumbledore spoke softly. “Your bedroom has been delt with and the sheets have been changed. There’s nothing to worry about. You must be very tired. We will speak more in the morning, alright?”

Elizabeth nodded, glancing at Riddle from the corner of her eye. “Alright.”

“Off to bed then, for all of us.” Dumbledore said with a smile, hands clasping behind his back as he looked towards Professor Merrythought. “Walk with me, Galatea?”

“Oh, yes.” Professor Merrythought nodded, finally looking away from Elizabeth. “Goodnight, you two.”

“Goodnight,” Elizabeth said softly. Riddle remained silent.

She grasped the handle of the still open door and looked at him. “Goodnight, Riddle.” She was sure she would not be sleeping.

“Goodnight,” He echoed roughly.

She stepped inside, and shut the door behind her.

Chapter Text

The four girls sat before Headmaster Dippet the next morning. Professor Dumbledore pacing back and forth in the corner. Professor Merrythought anxiously nursed a cup of tea, brow worrying and fingers twitching.

“You girls promise you did not put the snakes in Ms. Warren’s bed?” The headmaster asked with a frown.

All three rushed to answer.

“Of course not–” “I would never–” “–a horrible thing to do!” “Elizabeth is our friend–” “I hate snakes!”

The last was a desperate cry from Margaret, who was surprisingly the most bothered by the situation. She had yet to build up the courage to return to their dormitory.

The headmaster nodded, twitching his nose and scratching at his snow-white beard. “Ms. Lovegood, Professor Dumbledore tells me you believe you know who is responsible?”

Estella nodded, “Yes, headmaster. Olive Hornby–probably Enola Dyer and Augustine Selwyn too. They’ve got it out for Elizabeth, they are always taunting her.”

His white brows raised, and he peered at her over the glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Has this ever been reported? Those girls have excellent records, Olive Hornby is a good student and a prefect. This would be very out of character.”

But Estella only shook her head. “They’re really nasty to her behind closed doors. I know how it seems, but it’s true.”

He didn’t believe her. Elizabeth could tell. He was nodding and trying to look thoughtful. But he had already made his mind up–Olive Hornby was not a suspect.

The headmaster gave her a tight smile that didn’t come close to reaching his eyes. “We will take care to add some wards to your dormitory. Rest assured–that should keep you safe, Ms. Warren.”

Elizabeth said nothing. How could she–there was nothing to say.

They were dismissed, and one by one they filed out of the headmasters office only to walk down the hall in silence.

“Elizabeth,” Professor Dumbledores called out to her. She turned and looked at him.

“Do take care in choosing the people you surround yourself with. It is best to limit one’s enemies…I think you’ll find that it is always surprising what people are capable of. Especially those we care for.”

She gave a tight nod. “Yes, Professor.”

‡‡‡

Avery’s cheeks stung from the cold. Why did they have to do this outside? A late spring snowstorm was blowing in, and naturally, the dark, mist-covered grounds were empty. Students nestled inside the castle around common room fires, chatting about meaningless things. But of course, Riddle could not possibly do what everyone else was doing.

“Pass me that,” Avery muttered, gesturing to the muggle cigarette in Rosier’s hand. Francis rolled his eyes but passed him the cigarette nonetheless. The toxins warmed his lungs just enough to soothe.

“No offense, Riddle, but I’m hearing enough about Season from my mother at the moment. So it’s not exactly what I want to be talking about with you lot as well.” Groaned Nott, picking at a loose thread on his green cashmere scarf.

Tom ignored him entirely. “Tell me again how Grindelwald is connected to the Dumbledores.”

Timothy sighed. “All this is second-hand knowledge. Rumors.”

“Everything is rumors. Tell me anyway.”

“After Grindelwald was kicked out of Durmstrang–”

“Why was he kicked out?” Corvus cut in.

“I have no idea.” Timothy continued. “But after that, apparently he moved in with his aunt in Godricks Hallow, a Bagshot. The Dumbledore’s lived next door and he and the professor struck up a friendship. Supposedly they were quite close.”

“The professor?” Avery asked with wide eyes, passing the cigarette back to Rosier. “How come I never knew this?”

“Can’t imagine he would let a dirty secret like that get very far,” Riddle said lowly. “Wouldn’t work well with his shiny image.”

“Dumbledore just got much more exciting.” Avery laughed.

Riddle turned to Francis, his gaze focused and cold. “And what about the Rosier’s?”

Francis looked up from the grass, cold, nimble fingers working around the cigarette. “What about them?”

“What should we know about your Aunt’s relations with him?”

Francis shrugged. “I don’t know her that well if I’m honest. My dad thinks she’s wasting her talents–that she needs to get a real job and grow up. But I’ll be expected to make some introductions have a conversation.”

Riddle nodded, deep in thought.

“Merlin’s bollucks,” groaned Timothy, his shoulders collapsing in as he rolled to the floor. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to survive a whole evening with Genova fucking Greengrass.”

“At least she’s alright to look at.” Corvus grinned.

“Like that makes up for her obnoxious mouth.” Timothy scowled.

“Oh come on, Nott, I can think of at least a few ways to shut her up.” Corvus’s French accent grew thick as his voice lowered. He held up to fingers and licked the space between them obscenely.

“That’s my cousin you pisser,” Malfoy groaned and shoved the boy.

“Like that makes a difference. You could make that argument for everyone at this school.” Lestrange shrugged, fixing his shiny black hair back to perfection.

“Stop,” Riddle said with finality. “We need to focus.”

“Oh, come off it, Riddle. You’ll be expected to have a date as well.”

A chorus of teasing coos and smirks erupted from the boys.

“Alright then, my Lord, who’ll the lucky lady be?” Avery smiled.

The briefest tick of annoyance flickered across Riddle’s face, but he kept his composure. Surely this was not something that had escaped his notice. He stood out enough as it was, not having a date would outcast him from the circle. And Riddle wouldn’t have that.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll figure it out.” Riddle said as he stood. “Let’s go inside. It’s bloody freezing.”

The boys obediently stood and followed him up the rolling hills and towards the castle.

“What about that girl you’ve been spending so much time with?” Avery asked as he shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets. Maybe he should practice warming spells again. “Bloody fingers are frozen–”

He was so distracted by the thought that he didn’t notice Riddle had stopped walking until he bumped into him, only to be met by Riddles's glare. A look that felt like ice-covered stone.

The rest of the boys had stopped too, all eyes on Tom. The beginnings of a pure rage that none of them had ever seen in him before. It was startling.

Avery’s stomach clenched.

“Don’t.” Acidic. Final.

And as if nothing had happened, Riddle turned and kept walking. Avery stumbled to catch up, glancing at Abraxas right as Abraxas looked at him. A silent communication. Something about this girl was very different.

‡‡‡

Elizabeth had never heard them before. The whispers. If that’s even what they were. She had never heard them before, and now they plagued her every time she tried to sleep.

Far away whispers, mere hisses of wind.

Another language. One she didn’t understand verbally but was fluent emotionally. She could feel it under her skin and running through her blood.

Buzzing, buzzing, buzzing.

It was calling for her, begging even. Pulling at her bones and twisting in her gut. But what did it want? Where was it coming from?

Hands over her ears and blanket pulled over her head–it did nothing to quiet the noise. And then–

A flash of a pale, sweaty body writhing in bed. Just the same as her. Rippling muscle beneath skin, and dark brown eyes.

She pictured those eyes as clearly as she could, opened her mind, and called out to him. Reaching into the dark depths of her subconscious. Reaching, as if grasping for a rope to hold on to and pull her from the deepest waters of the sea.

His name echoed in her mind. Calling for him, knowing with absolute certainty that she would find him in this void. Until–her fingers clasped around that rope. And she was tugged to the surface.

Riddle.

Warren.

Oh, what relief. For the briefest second, she felt the image of him and his eyes fall away from her–she could feel herself being pulled violently back towards the raging waves of the sea. Quickly, she envisioned the exact shade of brown. And her fall stopped.

How is this possible? Was it her own thought, or his?

Do you hear it? That was certainly her own.

But she was met only with silence, the vague sensation of confusion and panic emanating from the other end.

She asked again.

Do you hear it?

And then, finally–

Yes. But how can you?

Chapter Text

“When were you going to tell me?” Elizabeth whispered sharply, walking at a gruelling pace to keep up with Riddle’s quick stride.

Riddle scanned the corridors for an empty classroom. Somewhere that could talk about this privately.

“I didn’t think it mattered.” He muttered.

Elizabeth seethed.

“Didn’t think it mattered? How are we supposed to work together when I am constantly playing this–this guessing game?!” She said in exasperation. “How can I trust you when I know nothing–”

The breath knocked from her as her back was slammed against the wall.

His slender hand tightened around her neck, the cold metal of his rings burning her skin. She could feel his heavy breath against her, dark eyes baring into hers. His magic, dark and tainted pulsed from him and echoed between them.

“I have never given you a reason not to trust me.” He hissed, fingers not loosening their grip. “I will tell you what you need to know. And you will not question me. Understood?”

Elizabeth said nothing. She couldn’t…not with her breathing restricted. Instead, she spoke with her eyes. She refused to cower, to look away.  

His hand fell from her neck, and he took a step back.

Elizabeth remained pressed against the wall; an eyebrow quirked up as she stared at him. “So…you can speak to snakes.”

Riddle said nothing, but his silence spoke volumes. Her question didn’t warrant an answer.

Elizabeth stepped towards him, chin tilted up.

“Fine. If you don’t want to talk, then neither will I.”

She stepped to the side and went to move around him– but his hand caught hers in a tight grip. She turned to glare at him over her shoulder, only to find that he was already looking at her.

“Don’t.”

Elizabeth looked down at where their skin met, suddenly feeling the intensity of his touch. Noticing her stare, his hand fell from hers.

“It’s how I know I’m connected to Salazar Slytherin. He was said to be a parselmouth. My mother’s family all had it too. It’s what makes me…different.”

A Parselmouth…

Elizabeth thought over it, mind racing back to one of their first conversations in the library. When he had first told her about the chamber.

She hadn’t entirely believed him then. And maybe there was still a small part of her that didn’t. A secretive, power-hungry boy. Something like that was bound to be prone to the occasional delusion. But beneath his carefully constructed shield, she could see honest desperation. She would cling to that.

“Have you always been able to?” She asked quietly.

“Yes. As long as I can remember.”

He wasn’t looking at her. But she kept her focus on him.

“Will you show me?”

‡‡‡

Riddle lead her out across the frozen grounds. Wind wrapping around them, she tugged her robes tighter in a desperate attempt to stay warm. It only grew colder as they approached the black lake. Surrounded by bushes of dark, magical ivy.

Riddle looked over at her, ensuring that she was ready.

Elizabeth nodded.

But she was unprepared for the sounds that fell from his lips. The way his mouth curved to form the hissing sounds. It was dark and captivating, setting her entire body–every ounce of magic within her blood–on fire.

It called to her.

The same way that voice had every night for weeks…the very same sounds.

And then–as if they were following orders–snakes, dozens of them, were surfacing from the lake. All moving towards Tom in recognition.

In submission.

Riddle hissed a final command and the snakes stopped at his feet. He stared down at the creatures, assessing their obedience. Then he looked over at her.

Elizabeth breathed deeply, lips parted in wonderous awe. She didn’t hesitate over her words.  

“I think there’s a basilisk in the school.”

Riddle didn’t reply, but she could see the cogs turning in his mind. She went on.

“Basilisks can live a very long time. It’s possible that Salazar Slytherin placed one here during his time at the school. That’s…I think that’s what’s in the chamber.”

Riddle was impossibly still. Elizabeth questioned if she could even see him breathing. Not that Riddle would stoop so low as to require such mortal, human needs as breathing.

It was unnerving. So she continued, a desperate attempt to fill the silence and urge him into movement.

“It’s what calls to you–to us–in the night.”

Still, Riddle did not move. But this time, he did speak.

“Can you understand it?”

Could she understand the words he had whispered, his second language?

His gaze focused on the misty grey horizon, the Scottish Highlands, and the dark depths of the black lake. Snakes bristling at his feet, waiting for his next command. As if they were itching to touch him, to move up his body and wrap around their master. Only then would they be satisfied.

He wasn’t looking at her, but he sensed the brief shake of her head. And she could have sworn the expression she saw on his face was disappointment.

It surprised her how instantly it made her heart ache. She wanted to spring into action. To fix it, to apologize. I’m sorry I can’t understand. I’m sorry I can’t be what you want. 

Riddle stared down at the snakes before him. They bristled under his attention. He hissed a low command–and they immediately turned in retreat.

Then he looked at her, voice steady and sure once again.

“We are having a meeting tonight. Seventh-floor left corridor. It’s a secret door, but if you’re looking for it–you’ll find it. Midnight sharp.”

He was walking back up the hill now.

Elizabeth scrambled to catch up. “We?”

“The Knights. No one else knows about this. It is to remain an absolute secret. You are to tell no one.”

Elizabeth had about a thousand questions. She nodded anyway.

They walked the rest of the way to the castle in silence. They would be late for dinner, but Elizabeth didn’t care. Estella and George would most likely be too absorbed with one another to even notice her absence. When they finally stepped inside, Riddle stopped and turned to her.

“Bring your cloak. And wear something nice.”

‡‡‡

Estella grinned over her shoulder at Elizabeth as she brushed out her wavy blonde hair. “It’s just so hard with his training schedule, you know? Of course–any minute we have, we’re together. But I’m thinking about maybe going and studying in the quidditch stands so I can watch him. Or maybe right there on the grass. I could be his little water girl.”  

Elizabeth gave her a smile.

Jasmine sighed as she tucked herself into bed. “You are so lucky, Estella. You should see the way he looks at you!”

“Yes, I’ll be lucky if I make it on a date at all,” Margaret said under her breath.

“Oh hush, girls. You have to remember to keep the bar high. People will tell you to lower your standards, but I promise–the moment the right person comes along, you will be happy that you never did.”

“I suppose you’re right, but it’s so hard when everyone knows everyone. We need a fresh batch!”

“Yes!” Cried Margaret.

“What about 6^th years? Or other houses?” Estella suggested, tugging on a pair of tall socks with stars on them.

“It’s a shame all the fit ones are in Slytherin.” Jasmine scowled; blanket pulled up to her chin.

“Corvus Lestrange.” Margaret cooed dreamily as she fell backward onto her bed.

“Yes, I think I’ll take the Nott boy any day.” Jasmine agreed dreamily.

Estella giggled, “What about you, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth’s ears perked up. “What?”

“Any boy caught your fancy?” Margaret asked, eyebrows wiggling in a girlish way.

Images of a tall boy with dark eyes unwillingly flashed in her mind, and she couldn’t help the pink that crept across her cheeks.

She shook her head quickly. “No, not really.”

“Oh please! Look at you, you’ve gone red as a phoenix! Who is it? You have to tell us.” Margaret begged, moving to the edge of her bed anxiously.

Elizabeth shook her head, kneeling down to shuffle through her trunk–pretending to look for something. But mostly just to shield her blushing cheeks.

“Elizabeth,” Estella said softly. “I didn’t know you liked someone!”

Elizabeth glanced up at her shimmering, pale eyes. Then looked back into her trunk.

“It’s nothing serious. I...he’s just nice to look at is all. I don’t think he even likes me.” Her voice was quiet, second-guessing words she hadn’t realized she was storing inside.

“How could he not! You’re the prettiest girl, Lizzy.” Jasmine smiled. God, she sort of hated that nickname…

“No, it’s more that I am pretty sure he hates me.” Elizabeth said shortly. Standing up and crawling into bed, the dorm fell silent as the girls frowned at her.

“You’re not sleeping in your cloak are you?” Margaret asked, brows furrowed.

Elizabeth blanched.

“I’ve been a little cold lately.” She said quickly, pulling the blankets up over her.

“Oh,” Margaret spoke quietly.

Elizabeth clenched her eyes shut, praying they would dismiss the thought and listening as they all climbed into bed.

“Goodnight, lovelies.” Estella sighed.

They all muttered quiet goodnights back, curtains pulling shut.

And Elizabeth held her breath.

Listening to the slow breathing of each girl, feeling each minute tick by.

Chapter Text

“Merlin…” Corvus Lestrange whispered as he looked around the room in shock.

What normally appeared as a near replica of the Slytherin common room had been transformed into an elaborate, haunting ballroom. Gothic arches lined the ceiling and walls, lit only by hundreds of candles.

There were no windows. And no doors.

Tom stood at the end of the room, the hood of his cloak pulled up over his head casting his face in a dark shadow.

“We having dance lessons or something?” Corvus chuckled nervously as he approached, glancing down at the object Riddle held in his hands. What was that?

Of course, it was a joke. But Riddle found no humor.

“No.”

Corvus felt his blood run cold as he finally saw what Tom held in his hands. A thin, intricately detailed, silver dagger. He had seen it only once before…

He hadn’t noticed Abraxas standing off to the side. Hood pulled up, he stood silent and still. Corvus only knew it was Malfoy because of his height.

The room shifted slightly as the three other boys appeared, and he watched as they two scanned the room with wide eyes.

“What’s this about?” Timothy asked.

“Hoods up gentlemen,” Riddle said as he slipped the dagger into the pocket of his cloak. “I expect you all to be on your best behaviour. It’s a very important day…”

‡‡‡

Elizabeth felt very exposed creeping along the walls. Though she kept to the shadows and was shielded by her black cloak–she could feel the eyes on her. She was growing nervous.

Pacing the left corridor of the seventh floor, she found only blank wall. She was sure she had heard him right. She had repeated it over and over again as she walked back to her room–certain to not forget it. She peered around every corner, even brushing her fingers along the stone in search of a hidden doorknob or lever.

Was this a joke? Had Riddle really gone mad?

She walked to the end of the corridor, then back again. Nothing.

Finally, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. A hidden door, that’s what she was looking for. That’s where she would find Riddle. She exhaled and opened her eyes.

And there it was.

A door–one that certainly hadn’t been there before (or had it?)–embedded in the wall. She rushed towards it for fear of it disappearing and tore it open.

Lying in bed, watching the minutes tick by as she conjured up theories about what the night held had not prepared her for what lay behind that door. Like one of those old churches in London or Milan, the most beautiful room she had ever seen. Intricate and ancient, it breathed dark magic. Hundreds and hundreds of candles, all varying in sizes lit the room in a warm glow. And at the very end of the room…six cloaked figures.

Elizabeth didn’t remember shutting the door behind her, yet somehow it had. She didn’t move…until finally, a figure stepped forward.

He pushed his hood back, and the candlelight illuminated his features. Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief as Riddle's dark eyes flickered before her. He slowly lifted a hand and held it out towards her.

“Come, Elizabeth…”

Like a siren call, his words pulled at her from within. Yanking on the blood in her veins and every nerve in her body. She went to him.

She shivered as her hand met his cold fingers.

“Knights,” Riddle began, his voice dark and low. His eyes focused only on her. “…your Dark Lady.”

One by one–the figures around her knelt to a bow. The air sucked from her lungs. Lips parted, her eyes moved across each of them. Surely…they were not bowing to her. Elizabeth looked back to Riddle, confusion evident in her gaze. Riddle grinned and nodded gently in reassurance.

“I have waited so long for you,” Tom said quietly, words meant only for her. And then louder, “Stand.”

The figures stood obediently, and one by one they each removed their hoods. Abraxas Malfoy…Francis Rosier…Timothy Nott…Nicholas Avery…and Corvus Lestrange.

Their faces solemn and haunting in the flickering light.

Riddle pulled her to stand beside him. “If any of you object to the rite of your Dark Lady, speak now.”

His words were sharp and direct, daring the boys to question him.

“If not… we will begin.”

His knights remained obedient and still.

Tom looked to Elizabeth and smiled, “Good…then let’s begin.”

The boys quickly shifted into a line before them, as if trained in dance. Corvus Lestrange stood at the front, and with a nod from Riddle–he fell to his knee before her. Bowing his head, he spoke reverently.

“My lady…fortitudo mea, vita mea…ad unum.” A glimmer of silver shone in his hand. Elizabeth breathed in sharply and stepped back.

“Tom,” She panicked, reaching for him and Corvus brought the sharp dagger to his wrist.

“Shh,” Riddle hushed her, taking her hand once again. Eyes trained on hers, she felt his words of reassurance in her mind. It’s alright.

Nevertheless, her stomach clenched as she watched the blade slide across the boy's thin, pale wrist until beads of dark red rushed to the surface. Then he tilted his hand, and the blood dripped into a small, silver bowl at his feet.

Head still bowed, he stood and passed the dagger behind him to Timothy Nott–then stepped to the side, his hand pressed tightly against his bleeding skin.

Timothy fell to his knees and bowed in the very same fashion.

“My lady,” He spoke. “fortitudo mea, vita mea. Ad unum.” Then he brought the dagger to his wrist and sliced–much faster than Corvus had. With less hesitation. His blood dripped into the bowl, mixing Corvus’ in a bloody concoction.

One by one, each boy did the same. Nicholas Avery, then Francis Rosier, and then finally Abraxas Malfoy. When only Malfoy remained, Elizabeth sensed his hesitation. He watched her intently and looked at Riddle. Then finally, he bowed.

“My Lady…” His words were tense and forced. “fortitudo mea, vita mea…ad unum.”

The dagger slid across his wrist with an unnecessary violence, as if wanted it to hurt. His blood mixed with the others, and by now the bowl was nearly brimming with dark, thick blood.

He set the dagger on the stone floor and went to lift the bowl. But before he could, Tom reached his hand out to stop him.

“Wait,” He said.

Abraxas looked up in surprise.

But something in Tom’s gaze must have said it all because he set the bowl back down. He stood. And then he stepped to the side.

Elizabeth felt Riddle’s hand slip from hers as he moved from her…then fell to his knee.

She felt the boys beside her tense. Could hear their sharp inhales. Could see them exchange glances.

Tom took the dagger in his slender fingers and raised his eyes to hers. They pierced her. As if she were taking that very dagger to her heart. Unlike the others, his eyes remained focused on her as he spoke. Passion and devotion filled his words in a way they hadn’t with the others.

“My lady.”

Her skin burned, doused with kerosine. Her hands shook.

“Fortitudo mea…vita mea…” The dagger met the skin of his wrist.

“Ad unum.” The dagger slid–and that kerosine lit, erupting into bright flames. His blood pearling across the open wound, tainting his pale skin and sliding into the bowl.

There was no pain in his eyes nor in his movements as he set the dagger aside, took hold of the silver, blood-brimmed bowl…and stood. Riddle stepped towards her and raised the bowl–bringing it to her lips. He said nothing, only gazed down at her with reassurance and nodded.

Drink.

He brought a hand to the back of her neck and tilted her head. Then he brought the bowl to her lips. And she drank.

The first taste of thick metallic stung her taste buds. But she didn’t stop. Because with every sip, she felt her magic intensify. Felt it light inside her. The elements of the earth calling to her, bowing to her every whim. Her hands covered Tom’s, cradling the bowl as she swallowed it down–a starving woman meeting satisfaction.

Much to her displeasure, Tom pulled the bowl away as she took the very last drop. She must have looked crazed, her eyes alight and glowing in the candlelight, lips stained with blood.

But the power within her…she dared anyone to question her. At that moment, she felt as if she could maim a thousand men and walk away unscathed.

Riddle carefully took her wrist and brought the dagger to her skin. Yet she felt no fear and felt no pain as the blade cut. A much smaller wound than the other had made. Her own blood was not poured into the bowl. Instead, he brought her wrist to his lips as his eyes met hers…and he sucked. Licked and sucked the blood from her very skin.

Ad unum, Elizabeth thought. Unsure where the thought had come from, or what the words meant. Fortitudo mea, vita mea. Ad unum.

Finally, Tom pulled away. His lips were red with her blood...her blood. She shivered at the sight.

“My Dark Lady…” He knelt once again. And the figures behind him quickly followed suit. “Your Knights of Walpurgis.”

‡‡‡

Riddle dismissed them and they all proceeded silently back to the Slytherin common room. It was nearly 1 a.m. by now and combined with the loss of blood–Corvus was exhausted.

But his thoughts buzzed, and he knew the others felt the same. They said nothing, and the unspoken words hung around them heavily. They were all thinking the same thing.

That was not the same rite they had taken.

But what did it mean?

Chapter Text

Though the initial rush of euphoric power had long gone, Elizabeth didn’t think she would ever feel the same. After all, it was no longer just her blood within her–not just her power. She now fed on the magic of the knights…of Tom. There was something primitive about the sharing of blood. His power coursed through her, and hers through him.

No wonder she felt different, almost inhuman.

Riddle had walked her back to her common room that night, assuring her that he would answer all of her questions soon. When it wasn’t so late. I promise.

But despite his promise, she hadn’t seen him all weekend.

Now that the last of winter had passed, May was in full bloom and the castle was once again filled with life. And no one was more thrilled about the warmth, sun, and flowers than Estella.

“I can’t imagine a better way to spend a Sunday evening.” She fawned, spread out on the grass–golden sunshine beaming down on her peaches and cream skin. Elizabeth hid beneath the shade of a tree, a book on magical reptiles propped atop her knees.

She tried not to be angry. Tried instead to be happy for her and her positive naivety…but how could she not notice? Couldn’t Estella feel the difference in her? Could she really believe that nothing had changed?

Elizabeth felt different. When she looked in the mirror, she even looked different. Healthier. Stronger. Maybe even a glow in her cheeks.

“Yes,” she sighed. “It’s lovely.”

Estella sat up at squinted at her through the sunshine. “What are you reading?”

She crept towards her and tilted the cover of the book. “Scales & Tales by Vernon Blott. Merlin that sounds boring. What are you reading that for?”

“Research for an essay.” Elizabeth said. “On… Basilisks. For Magical Creatures.”

Estella scrunched her button nose, “I hate snakes. I’m so glad I decided to take divination instead.”

Divination… hadn’t there been something she wanted to ask her about that?

She couldn’t remember.

“So,” Estella hummed as she moved to sit beside her. “Who is this boy that you are certain hates you?”

Images of him flashed in her mind. Kneeling before her. My Lady. His eyes peering down at her. Drink. Her blood on his lips.

Elizabeth shivered and stiffened. “No one.”

Estella’s blue eyes narrowed. “This is the second time you’ve blushed over him.”

Elizabeth only shook her head.

“Oh come on, Elizabeth. Please!” She begged. “I tell you all my secrets. It’s only fair that you tell me yours.”

My darling Estella, Elizabeth thought. What on earth would you think of me if you knew all my secrets?

The pleading, innocent look her Estella’s eyes softened Elizabeth. To Estella, she was wondering about a schoolgirl crush. Small and pretty, easily digested. It wasn’t her fault that she didn’t know the dark depths she stood before.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Elizabeth smiled gently. “Just…give me some time to figure things out. And then I promise I’ll tell you. Every detail.”

Estella grinned.

‡‡‡

The following night, Elizabeth sat patiently at their usual spot in the library. She was usually the first person there, so she pulled out her things and started on research. If there was anything she had learned, it was that Basilisks were big. Very, very big. And although Hogwarts was very large itself, it was nowhere near big enough to hide a creature such as that. To make matters worse, the night of the rite had taught her that the castle was even more mysterious than she had previously suspected. Rooms could appear and disappear; they could materialize from nothing as anything you wanted. Essentially, they were fighting a losing battle against a very magical pile of bricks.

“Get your things.”

His whispered voice against her neck startled her.

“God-damn-it, Riddle.” She slapped him “Don’t scare me like that.”

“Get your things.” He spoke as if she hadn’t said anything at all.

Elizabeth sighed, closed her book, and began to pile things up. But Riddle moved fast, and before she could finish he had already taken most of her things into his arms.

“Where are we going?” She asked as she struggled to keep up with him.

“Not here, somewhere private. A room that we require.”

Her suspicions were confirmed as they climbed the stairs to the seventh floor. And unlike the night of the rite, she found that the door had already appeared. Waiting for them.

What Elizabeth found behind that door looked nothing like the sprawling, candlelit ballroom she had entered before. Instead, it looked almost like…a common room?

Leather couches and chairs, lush green drapery, and glowing fireplaces. This time there were windows, the flickering movement of dark water beyond the glass panes. Elizabeth felt certain, though she had never seen it before, that this was the Slytherin Common Room.

“How does it work?” She whispered in awe.

Riddle dropped her books and papers onto a coffee table. “I don’t know. I’ve never been able to figure it out.”

He sat down on one of the black leather couches and began sifting through her research. “You say a basilisk is the only thing capable of living long enough. How long exactly can they live?”

Elizabeth sat down beside him. The bare skin of her thigh brushing his as her skirt rose.

“According to this one…” She grabbed her copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. “At least 900 years.”

“What else?” He demanded.

Elizabeth mulled over everything she had read thus far. “They are created by hatching a chicken egg beneath a toad. They can grow up to…30 feet I believe. Their poisonous fangs and ability to instantly kill by looking at you make them a 5-X class creature. You know, sort of like Medusa–”

“Like what?”

Elizabeth blinked. “You know, Medusa. From Greek Mythology?”

“Yes, but wasn’t that stone?”

“Oh–it hardly makes much of a difference when you’re dead!” She cried out. Tom only looked away, deep in thought.

“I did read something–what was that in? Oh yes, this one.” She opened up a book called Most Macabre Monstrosities. “It was suggesting that an indirect look would merely petrify you. I don’t know what they mean by an indirect look–”

“So, it’s a tool,” Riddle said suddenly, his eyes trained on the fire.

“What?”

“The Basilisk is the tool. And the chamber merely holds the tool. It was never the chamber that was the weapon.”

He spoke with such surety. As if all the dots in his mind had connected, and every piece was in place. But Elizabeth didn’t understand.

“How is he going to use a giant, killer snake to further his cause for blood purity at Hogwarts? I doubt anyone would want to send their children to school if they knew there was something like that roaming around.”

Riddle gave her a sharp, judgmental look.

Elizabeth only glared back.

“Salazar Slytherin was a parselmouth.” He said.

“Yes, it runs in the family.” She said. Riddle ignored the snarky comment.

“The basilisk is just another snake. It’s possible that if he could…speak to it…he could also influence it. Control who it killed.”

And finally, she understood.

Her blood ran cold. Her very muggle blood.

“You don’t mean…you’re not suggesting he intended to kill the muggle-born children…are you?”

She was seeking reassurance. She wanted him to laugh, to tell her that it was preposterous to even think that he would suggest something like that. But he didn’t. He said nothing. And his silence said so much more than she wanted to hear.

“But–Tom–I’m–” She stumbled over her words, unable to form a coherent thought. She was in too deep. She was in far, far too deep.

Still, Riddle remained unbothered. Something dark and terrifying in his eyes. And she could feel it. She could feel his rush of power within her. And though it mixed with her fear, she could understand the pull he felt to it.

Finally, ever so slowly, he turned to her. And those deviant eyes met hers.

“Everything changes now. Everything.”

When she didn’t respond, he stood and sauntered over to the green-tiled fireplaces. Hands shoved into his trouser pockets as the flickering fire gleamed in the whites of his eyes.

“There are people out there who will take everything from you. They feed, and they feed, and it’s never enough.”

He paused, and with the smallest break in his voice, “I’m so tired of things being taken from me. For once…I want to be the one doing the taking.”

Elizabeth remained silent, staring fixedly at the back of his suit jacket.

His head turned to look at her over his shoulder. “All we are doing is taking advantage of a system that is already broken. Don’t you understand that?”

He turned and stepped towards her, hands still in his pockets and head tilted. “They aren’t like us…Elizabeth. They’re weak. Subject to frivolous worries and fear. It makes them credulous and naïve. Give them what they want, feed into their egos–and they’ll hand over anything.”

Elizabeth felt sick from the mix of emotions within her. The way her fear and anxiety mingled with the growing sense of power and excitement she felt from Tom. All living inside her, trying to coexist.

He took another step forward, looming over her. His words lower, despite their privacy. “There’s nothing these people believe in more than blood purity. Hand it to them on a silver tray…and they won’t realize what they’ve given in return.”

Forearms resting on his knees, he crouched down, so he was level with her.

“We could take it all…together.” He whispered. And in the dim light, his brown eyes glistened with innocence.

“To what end?” She asked in a whisper, her voice breaking.

“To whatever end necessary.”

Chapter Text

She didn’t dare ask what he was also writing in that little black book of his. The one he carried everywhere, hidden away in the folds of his robes and scribbling in whenever he had the chance.

Elizabeth watched as his long-limbed body curled over the desk, shielding his elegant penmanship from her. The past few days they had fallen into a routine of studying in silence, tucked in the same private corner of the library.

They said nothing.

Elizabeth wasn’t even sure what he was working on. But for some reason, she was clawed by a constant need to be near him. To simply be in his presence and to breathe the same air. And by their wordless agreement–she guessed that he felt the same.

Despite the hours spent working, Elizabeth wasn’t getting much done. She was distracted.

Everything he did was distracting. Every movement–his leg shaking, the twitching of his fingers against the pages. A dark strand of hair would fall in his face, and he would leave it there for a while, then run a hand through it in frustration–only for the process to repeat a few minutes later.

And it was all so consuming.

He was invading her in every way. Parchment scrolls and books spread across their shared desk space. Long legs stretched towards hers. He exuded an energy larger than him, and she could feel it not just around her but within her. Pulsing right there beside her own heart and filling her lungs.

Elizabeth inhaled shakily, tried to focus on her reading for transfigurations. He glanced at her.  

“Did you finish that essay for charms?” He muttered quietly.

Elizabeth shook her head, anxiety flooding through her. “No, I’ve been more worried about O.W. L’s.”

Riddle gave her an incredulous look. “Hardly something to worry about.”

“Easy for you to say. Not everything comes naturally to a person.”

He might have argued with her if he wasn’t so pleased by the slight ego boost. Instead, he shrugged and went back to writing.

She pulled out fresh parchment to get started on that charms essay…but the piercing shock of eyes watching her struck. Glancing over her shoulder, she caught none other than Olive Hornby’s eye. Standing a good distance away, almost entirely shielded by a bookshelf–Olive was watching them with great intent.

Elizabeth felt panic course through her. She turned back towards Riddle.

“Olive is watching us,” She rushed breathlessly. Fingers clenching around her quill.

“Hm?” Riddle hummed, not moving from his work.

Elizabeth nudged his foot with hers and whispered sharply. “Riddle. Look.”

Finally, he perked up and looked behind her. She watched as his eyes darkened with recognition. But unlike her, he didn’t look away.

“What is she doing?” She whispered.

“I don’t know,” he said lowly. “She’s gone now.”

His eyes fell towards her… and every cell in her body responded. Brown eyes glimmering under the warm lamp light. Like deep pools of molasses–thick and syrupy.

“Does she bother you anymore?”

Elizabeth shook her head. Unable to look away from him. “No.”

He nodded, glancing over her shoulder once more before turning back to his work. Entirely unphased.

But Elizabeth was shaken. Olive Hornby was not likely to go gently. And at the very least, Elizabeth didn’t like the idea of being watched the rest of her life. She gazed at the blank piece of parchment–her mind feeling just as empty. She blinked, dropped the quill to the paper and made a mark.

But no ink was left on the paper–only a faint scratch.

Riddle’s arm reached across her, picked up a bottle of ink and unscrewed the cap before setting it down.

“Don’t think about her. Hornby is entirely incapable.”

Elizabeth scowled, dipping her quill into the ink. “Yes, say that to the snakes in my bed. I wouldn’t be surprised if–”

But she couldn’t go on. High pitched hissing suddenly echoed loudly in her mind. Vibrating back and forth, as if some creature had hijacked her inner thoughts.

Her hands flew to cover her ears, as if it would quiet the awful sounds.

All it did was make it louder.

She grimaced, eyes flying open to look at Riddle–but his eyes were trained dead ahead. Entirely unmoving, as if frozen in time.

“Riddle,” She whimpered, a desperate attempt to escape from her mind. Could he hear it too?

The hissing grew louder and louder until… it stopped. And everything around her fell into silence. Like nothing had happened.

Her hands stayed pressed to her ears, afraid to move in case the hissing returned. Finally, Riddle looked to her.

He blinked.

“You hear it?” He said softly, the sound muffled by her hands. She gave a stiff nod, panic coursing through her.

Riddle blinked again.

“It’s calling for me.”

Elizabeth’s rapid heartbeat fell still, dropping to the pit of her stomach. She hesitantly removed her hands from her ears, testing the waters. “What’s calling for you?”

Riddle’s gaze traced the floor–all the way across the ceiling, then looked at her.

“The basilisk.”

Elizabeth squeezed her hands in her lap so tightly that crescent scars were sure to form where her nails pressed into her skin. Her feet shuffled across the floor as her body tensed. “Riddle–”

He stood up abruptly, chair screeching across the floor. “Get your things.”

The books, parchment, and quills had almost entirely been put away by the time she came to her senses and stood. She slung her leather bag over her shoulder and moved after him, struggling to keep up as he weaved through the deserted aisles. Bookshelf after bookshelf racing past them.

“Where are we going?”

She traced his footsteps and followed, keeping to the shadow-cast side of empty hallways and through hidden passageways. They rounded a dark corner quickly and Elizabeth jolted as she saw Corvus Lestrange standing there.

“My Lord,” Corvus said quietly as he spotted them. Riddle gave only the slightest nod of recognition, then he continued walking–both Elizabeth and Corvus falling in line behind him.

Their long legs let them take the stone stairs by two, but Elizabeth felt as if her lungs might give out if she went any faster. Riddle glanced back at her and took her hand in frustration, nearly dragging her behind him now.

At the top of the stairs, Avery and Rosier stood at attention.

“My Lord,” the echoed in sync, then followed behind him.

He was collecting them, one-by-one. Somehow, he had called them. And they had heard. How had he done it?

It wasn’t entirely surprising when they approached the appearing doorway, even less surprising to find the Slytherin common room behind it. Timothy Nott sat lounging on the leather sofa, Abraxas Malfoy–who she had yet to see relaxed–stood tensed in front of the fire.

“My Lord,” Timothy startled, rushing to stand.

Abraxas said nothing, only turned from the fire.

Riddle nodded, “Everyone sit.”

The Knights were more than happy to, each rushing for a place on the various sofas and chairs.

Elizabeth hesitated. Still very unsure about what her place in all of this was.

Riddle flicked his wand and a green velvet chaise from the corner slid across the stone floor, coming to an abrupt stop beside him.

His eyes moved from the chaise to her.

Message received, she sat.

Lacing his fingers together, Riddle stood in contemplation.

And they waited…silently, obediently. Fearfully? No, perhaps not.

No one dared to move, to make a proposition, and certainly not to question. They sat perfectly, as if someone had pushed pause and would only resume when Riddle had spoken.

Elizabeth was not so still, she looked from Riddle to the Knights, then back to Riddle. They hadn’t been together like this since the rite. She really hadn’t seen any of them since the Rite.

She flushed at the memory.

“We have discovered Salazar’s weapon.” Riddle said at last.

The energy of the room shifted. Recognition and shock evident on each boy’s face. But still, no one spoke and Riddle went on.

“It has called to me. It recognizes me as Salazar’s rightful heir. It is eager to fulfill its purpose. I intend to uncover it tonight.”

Elizabeth suspected that none of the Knights had any doubt that their leader was the rightful heir of Slytherin. It was clear that they respected him as such, had already placed their power and faith in his hands. But if there was any suspicion among them, it was likely gone now.

“Before I use it–” Riddle stopped, considering his words. “I want you all to understand our mission here. To reclaim the power we are owed, the power we deserve. When the weapon is unleashed, it will be clear that the rightful heir has returned. I trust you each to remain by my side.”

His words were spoken with such finality, but it was clear that he wasn’t done.

“So long as you remain loyal to me, you will be protected. But if you turn from me, if you betray me…you will not meet your end softly. I can assure you that. Am I understood?”

There was a breath of silence, but then each of them nodded. “Yes, my Lord.”

That same glimmer she had seen in Riddle’s eyes, Elizabeth now saw in theirs. They believed him, they believed in him. In their eyes, they were standing in front of their savior.

Was she?

Riddle nodded, merely glancing in her direction. She hadn’t responded. Did she need to? Please, she begged silently, don’t make me say it.

“You are all dismissed.” Riddle sighed, walking to his stack of books that he had discarded haphazardly on a side table. Rustling through them until he found his little black book. Elizabeth remained delicately perched on her chaise, unmoving as the Knights each left the room.

“Riddle,” Abraxas’s voice came from behind her. She turned to watch as he stood with his hand against the door frame–gazing at Riddle. At first she thought he might leave his back turned, but finally he turned to look at the Knight.

“Be careful.” He barely glanced at her before turning and leaving. The soft slam of the door vibrating in the silence.

Collecting herself, she stood and walked towards him.

His back still turned to her, hands pressed to the table as he leaned over his books.

“You’ll come with me.” Soft, but a demand.

Elizabeth blanched. Tonight?

She looked around the room, as if she were looking for an escape. Some hidden door or open window. Had she truly wanted to, there were about a dozen ways she could have run. But she hadn’t. Not really. She could admit that much to herself.

“Where?”

Riddle stood, closing the notebook and tucking it into the pocket of his dark robes. “It’s in the pipes.”

Elizabeth blinked. “The pipes?”

How big were the pipes? How big was the basilisk? The basilisk. She felt her skin run cold. Somehow, she had forgotten the true dangers of the creature. One look and she would be dead, petrified into oblivion. Maybe that had been his plan all along. An elaborate way to get rid of her now that she had served her purpose.

Riddle stood with his eyes closed. Elizabeth stood close, so close she could almost feel the rise and fall of his chest as she stared up at him.

“I can hear it,” He whispered. “Calling to me…” His eyes blinked open, and he stared down at her. “And what about you…”

Elizabeth frowned in confusion. Marveling at his lips, but utterly afraid of what would come from them next.

“Will you be loyal to me?”

Her heart betrayed her before anything else. Surely, he could feel it.

She nodded, and breathlessly she whispered, “Yes.”

Riddle’s eyes darkened, stepping towards her–pressing their chests together and closing any gap between them.

Dark, dripping, molasses scanning her face. “Say it.”

Elizabeth hesitated. Did he mean…

She felt his hand graze her ribs, then find the tender skin of her neck. He gripped her, not choking her–merely possessing her. Pulling her closer until she felt his warm breath against her face.

“Say it,” He demanded. Words low and rough.

“My Lord.”

She felt it ripple through him. The power and pleasure.

And then he grinned, a rare sight from Tom Riddle. White teeth and dimples on display. “Good,” He smiled, his hand tightening around her neck for a split second before he released. “Leave your things here.”

“Is it–is it telling you where it is?” She asked.

Riddle shook his head, looking up at the ceiling–searching. He stepped towards the wall, and she watched as he gently placed his hand against it. Almost as if he were feeling for something.

She opened her lips to ask but stopped at the sounds he made. Smooth, hissing, foreign sounds came from deep in his throat. Then loud, far less enticing hissing echoed in her mind in response. It jolted her as it always did, but Riddle seemed unphased.

“This way.”

He led her out of the room and down the hallway, his hand grazing the wall–following the sounds. She trailed after him, anxiously scanning the hallway for anyone that could be watching them. It had to be past curfew by now. The trouble they would get in…how could she possibly explain.

She followed him down a flight of stairs to the second floor.

“Riddle,” She whispered sharply, her panic evident.

His pointer finger rose to his lips as he glared. Then he cocked his head to the side. At the end of the deserted hallway was a girl’s bathroom. One they had met in before, one she frequently escaped to because the faucets were leaky and the toilets flooded.

They stood silently in the dark bathroom. Pale moonlight illuminating puddles of water and rusted metal. Elizabeth’s rapid heartbeat nearly drowned out the echoed, dripping of water. Drip…drip…drip…

Riddle stood still.

“It stopped.”

“What do you mean?”

Riddle shook his head. “It stopped. It’s gone quiet.”

Elizabeth didn’t know what to say. She watched as he began to survey the room, peeking behind stall doors and examining the mirrors, windows, and floors. Then she started looking too. What she was looking for, exactly, she wasn’t sure.

Riddle scoffed in frustration, rushing a hand through his rustled hair.

“This is it…I know it is. It has to be here.”

Elizabeth hesitated. “Maybe it went quiet because we aren’t in the right place. The pipes haven’t worked here in a long time.”

But Riddle only shook his head, his growing frustration evident by the tensing of his jaw and twitching of his fingers. He gave her a dismissive glance.

“No. It’s here.”

It was late. Passed curfew. She was tired and frustrated. Unlike him, she couldn’t afford to get in trouble. She wouldn’t be able to talk herself out. The last thing she wanted to be doing was hunting the castle for a monstrous snake that may or may not exist.

“Lumos,” Riddle whispered. He passed the bathroom, holding the tip of his wand to every crack in the stone. Elizabeth’s frustration boiled.

“Riddle,” She sighed, exasperated. “This is a girl’s bathroom.”

“And?” He replied roughly.   

“And I really doubt we are going to find a massive snake here! It’s late. I’m tired. We can keep looking tomorrow.”

He ignored her, his back still turned. Completely unphased by anything she had said.

Elizabeth’s fists clenched.

“Riddle!” She cried.

“STOP!” He seethed. At last, turning to face her. Jaw set, the veins at the bridge of his forehead evident. Eyes impossibly black. “Just. Stop.”

Each step he took towards her jolted her. The air slowly squeezed from her lungs. A mere foot from her now, she stepped back–only to slam against the rim of a sink. Another step towards her and she could feel him against her. She was…entirely trapped.

The heavy thump of his heart slammed against her. She could feel the pulsing rage in his veins.

He was a child, she thought. Unaccustomed to not getting his way. And she had told him no.

Riddle’s brow raised in amusement, his lips curling. “A child, am I?”

The walls of her mind moved to slam shut–but he was already inside. And she wasn’t strong enough to force him out. Her teeth clenched, hands moving to grip the sink behind her for some ounce of support.

Riddle hummed, moving closer to ensure she could not escape. To tower above her. To make her feel small. And oh, was he succeeding. She was sinking–drowning in the depths of his molasses eyes. The beating of his heart, his firm body rippling against her. Her Ravenclaw intelligence was fighting, begging her to run. But it was quickly stamped out by a much stronger, burning desire. Want.

Riddle’s eyes glimmered.

“Your mind betrays you.” He said lowly, his words a mere breath against her flushed skin.

She shivered, his cold fingertips grazing her arm. His head dipped, lips hovering against her neck. Her eyes fell closed.

“You think I can’t see it?” He breathed. Then his hands gripped her hips and he turned her roughly. She gasped, his hand moving to grip her long, dark hair. Pulling her to him, forcing her chin to rise. She could see herself now in the mirror, could see the reflection of her body pressed to his as he towered behind her.

“Look…” He whispered; eyes trained on hers in their moonlight blue reflection.  

She looked. And it was so clear across her face.

It shimmered in her cold grey eyes. Burning beneath her skin, the parts where he was touching her. It oozed from her every breath.

“It consumes you,” He murmured. Fingers trailing up her arm, across the exposed, pulsing flesh of her neck. “Maybe…if you didn’t question me so much…I’d feed it.”

His lips moved to her ear and his eyes once again met hers. Carefully observing her reaction.

The heavy rise and fall of her chest.

“Do you want that?” He asked softly.

Elizabeth–not even sure what he was asked–nodded. Desperation filled her. She would take anything he would give her. She needed… She needed.

His lips met her neck. Her eyes shut. Lungs suddenly collapsed, unable to take in air. But she didn’t need it, didn’t need air–she needed more.

Teeth grazed against the damp skin and she shivered.

“Please,” She begged.

Riddle’s hands found her hips again, and he turned her. The small of her back slammed against the sink at the very same time that his lips pressed to hers.

She could feel him in her mind.

She didn’t care.

His bruising movements against her were sure to leave a mark. Her lips, already swollen and red. And yet, it still didn’t feel like enough. Not with every nerve in her body screaming for more. It was his blood that moved within her–right beside hers. And only the edge had been satisfied.

“Riddle,” She gasped, suddenly desperate for air. He groaned his response.

Then he whispered–a low hiss in that foreign language. Hushed parseltongue. She didn’t know what he had said. But as the sounds fell from his lips against hers, there was a sudden shift behind her.

A loud, metal clank that made them break apart. Then Elizabeth watched in horror as the top of the sinks rose into the air. They both stumbled backward as the sinks then began to separate… and the very sink she had been pressed against just seconds before, sunk into the ground to reveal a dark pit at the center. Large enough for a human person to easily fall down.

Eyes wide, she peered at the hole in the ground. Unwilling to move and afraid of what might come out.

But Riddle stepped forward, leaned over the dark hole, and peered down. He stared for a moment, then he straightened, and turned to look at her.

An eerie grin spread across his face. Hair disheveled and lips swollen. He looked mad.

“We found it.”

Chapter Text

Elizabeth felt as if she might be sick.

“I’m not going down there.”

Riddle said nothing, surveying the massive hole with great interest. Eyes more aflame than ever–entirely consumed. He scanned the room, almost reptilian.

“Hand me that. There.” He pointed to a broken pipe bit that lay in the corner.

“What are you going to do with it?” She asked as she handed it to him. Riddle stretched out his arm and held the broken pipe over the pit, looked her in the eye, and then dropped it.

It fell silently for a second or two. Then it hit the cement walls with a loud, echoing clank. Terrible, metal screeching sounded from the pit–as if the pipe were sliding. And then…nothing.

Elizabeth was horrified, but Riddle looked thoughtful, peering down into the dark as if he might be able to see the pipe.

“It’s not terribly deep…” He said thoughtfully, crouching down to get a better look. “Get me something else.”

She looked around the room–searching for another pipe, but there was nothing. Instead, she spotted a white tile that had fallen from the wall. She held it up, “How about this?”

“Yes, perfect.” He said, waving a hand to motion her forward quickly.

Elizabeth knelt down beside him and watched as he held the white tile to the inner rim of the pit, then let go.

Rather than a loud clank, the tile slid along the wall. It contrasted well against the darkness, and they were able to watch it for a while before it slid out of sight.

“It curves. Like a tube slide.”

“Where does it go?” She began to ask, but Riddle had already swung his legs over the edge.

Elizabeth gasped, reaching to grab his shoulder and hold him back. “You can’t go down there?! How–We have no idea what’s down there!”

Riddle shrugged. “Don’t be silly, of course we do.”

“But–” Elizabeth stuttered over her words. “But that’s worse! It could kill you.”

“Nonsense.” Riddle took her hand from his shoulder, and in one push–slid from the edge of the floor and down the opening.

Elizabeth scrambled to stand and pressed her hands to her mouth to muffle her scream.

There was an eerie moment of silence where Elizabeth was painfully aware of her racing heart and heavy breathing against her hands. She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing thickly to curve the urge to vomit.

“Riddle…” Her words vibrated against the walls and then–

Riddle voice echoed from deep below.

“I’m alright.”

Her tight chest finally relaxed and she released a breath, hands dropping to her sides.

Then his voice came again. “Come down here!”

Elizabeth’s eyes went wide.

“NO!” She called down.

“It’s fine! I’ll catch you.”

She blinked, her cheeks flushing pink as she peered down the pit once more. Hoping that she might be able to catch a glimpse of him. Against her better judgement, she sat down against the edge and let her legs dangle down.

Her fingers squeezed the cold cement. “Are you sure?”

She could imagine him rolling his eyes and sighing in the silence.  

“Yes! I promise.”

Maybe, if more people had made her promises, she would have stood up and walked away. Yelled down and told him he was crazy. She could leave him down there in that mysterious pit that led merlin-knows where and sneak up to bed. Then in the morning, she could pretend she had never met Tom Riddle and go on with her life.

But as it were…the only person she had any experience in promises with…was Riddle.

And thus far he had kept every single one.

So, she closed her eyes, and pushed herself off the ledge.

Eyes squeezed shut, she felt the hard wall slide beneath her. The air rushing against her grew colder. And then–right before she could launch off of the edge–hands caught her at the sides, and she slammed into Riddle’s hard body.

Elizabeth panted against his chest as she finally opened her eyes. Which did very little, it was incredibly dark–and damp.

She felt Riddle tense as he pushed her from him just slightly, scanning over her. “Alright?”

“I think so,” She said quietly, shifting her feet to get her balance only for a horrid crunch to sound. She glanced down. “Oh my god…”

Her fingers pressed hard into his biceps.

“Riddle, oh my god.” She panicked, trying to step away but everywhere she stepped bones. Skeletons and fragments of tiny creatures, thousands of them piled across the floor. The sickly feel of them against her flats.

“I know,” Riddle sighed, kicking at spinal fragment with the edge of his shoe.

Elizabeth looked up at him in horror.

“I think we go this way,” He said, looking at the tunnel to his left.

Elizabeth looked back at the hole they had come from. “How are we going to get back up?”

“I suppose we will figure that out when the time comes.”

Elizabeth shook her head in disbelief.

“Right then,” He said, taking her hands from his arms. But Elizabeth was quick, she gripped his right hand in hers–afraid that if she were somehow on her own she would be swallowed up by the bones surrounding her. He looked slightly offput by the gesture, but he try to free his hand.

Riddle helped her step up into the tunnel, then followed after her and led the way. The only problem was that from that tunnel was an array of connecting tunnels.

Elizabeth squeezed his hand, peering up at him. His eyes flicking back and forth, scanning. Reptilian.

“This way.”

She followed him through another tunnel that lead into a cavernous opening. Riddle had to duck much lower than her to make it through. But as it widened, a large, circular door embedded in the wall came into view.

Snakes–seven of them–decorated the metal closure.

Yes. This was it.

But there was no handle. No keyhole or latch.

Riddle stared thoughtfully. He licked his lips, and then hissed in parseltongue. As soon as he had stopped, there was a loud bang that made Elizabeth jump. Then one by one, the snake heads curled back with a metallic creak–an eighth snake appeared, circling the rim of the circle. And then… the door swung open.

Riddle immediately surged towards the opening, but Elizabeth gripped his hand and stayed put.

Riddle gave her a sharp look and cocked his head.

He pulled her through the tunnel, and then stopped. To Elizabeth, it looked like one of those metal ladder’s they put on the sides of muggle public pools. Riddle dropped her hand, gripped the railing, and climbed down.

Elizabeth looked behind her. It was dark. Water droplets were dripping from somewhere in the cave. And she most certainly didn’t want to be left anywhere near those bones. She gripped the railing, and climbed down.

She jumped from the last little bit, and when she turned around to face Riddle, he had turned away from her. Standing in the center of a long walkway. Snakeheads–dozens, of snakeheads–lined the sides. Their long fangs illuminated by blue light. Riddle was totally still, staring straight ahead at the large carved face of Salazar Slytherin.

Then Riddle began walking. A determined stride, footsteps in the puddles of water along the stone tiles. She wanted to follow after him but she felt frozen. She could feel something here–the presence of something terrible.

But then Riddle’s footsteps stopped. And he turned to look at her.

“Elizabeth.”

She felt her blood run cold. She squeezed her fists, palms sweaty.

“Close your eyes.”

She frowned. She wanted to question him. The soft syllabus of his name on his lips vibrating in her mind. It made any of her other thoughts go quiet. Where was she again? Close her…

Louder, parseltongue echoed through the room. Elizabeth watched with curious fascination as the stone chin of Slytherin dropped open to reveal a dark opening.

Her body sensed it first. The blood drained from her face and she felt her body go numb with terror. Then she heard it, that terrible hissing that had sounded in her mind so many times the past few weeks. Wet, slimy movement against stone.

Close her…

Elizabeth shut her eyes tight, suddenly coming to her senses. Her hands were shaking at her sides. She was trying to grip at her skirt, but she couldn’t–couldn’t get the muscles in her fingers to work. 

Fear coursed through her in violent, uncontrollable fidgeting.

She hadn’t even seen the creature…but she could feel its presence. Hear it’s movements and breathing.

And Riddle wasn’t saying anything. He was completely silent.

She could sense the Basilisk growing closer, could feel its eyes on her as it surveyed her. It was watching her. As if it were hunting and had finally spotted its prey.  She listened as its heavy body slid over the pools of water.

Thick, wet, scaly skin grazed her hand.

Elizabeth whimpered and choked back a scream.

It was circling her.

Riddle, she called out in her mind–reaching for him. Where was he? Why wasn’t he saying anything?

Then he hissed, calling out to the Basilisk. She didn’t know what he had said, but the snake moved past her…until eventually she felt it grow distant.

In a bold move, Elizabeth opened her eyes.

She wished she hadn’t.

The snake must have been at least twenty feet long, dark green scales with an iridescent blue underbelly. It was turned from her, thankfully, so she couldn’t see the head. Riddle stood with his hand outstretched, and she watched as the snake nuzzled against it. Moving against his hand, like a house cat, she thought.

Riddle whispered to the creature again, low and in an almost nurturing way. The basilisk dipped its head, and slowly slithered back through the hole it had come from–disappearing into darkness as the stone chin of Salazar Slytherin moved back into place, and locked the creature in.

Riddle stood with his back to her. Staring at the stone head, the very place the creature had disappeared.

Taking slow, careful steps, she creeped towards him.

His shoulders were tense, fists clenched at his sides. She didn’t dare touch him. Instead, she stood a few paces behind him and watched.

Not for the first time, she wondered about Tom Riddle.

He wasn’t just some self-entitled, pretentious schoolboy. Nor just a leader of the most powerful boys in school. Did she really know anything about him at all? This boy, so other worldly in his mannerisms. You couldn’t predict anything he did. No matter what, he was always ten steps ahead of you.

She wondered just what he was capable of.

Greatness, certainly. But terrible things can be great too. Power is power, neither good nor evil.

Power dripped from Riddle. It oozed in his every movement and word.

As if he had heard her thoughts, his head turned to look at her. Eyes dark once again, no longer snake-like.

His jaw ticked.

“Let’s get out of here,” He said quietly.

They carefully traced their steps, going out the very same way they had to come in. Elizabeth was hardly surprised when the big metal snake door creaked shut behind them on its own.

But as they approached the floor of bones and carcasses, Elizabeth grew wary. And they came to a stop.

They both surveyed the various openings, gazing thoughtfully at the tunnel they had come from.

“Maybe we could…transfigure it?” Elizabeth suggested. She had no idea how to do that.

Riddle didn’t reply, circling the small room–bones crunching beneath his feet with every step. His fingers rose to a particular stone above the tunnel opening and he stopped.

“What is it?” She asked quietly, stepping closer.

His fingers moved over the grooves of encarved stone–words etched in sprawling letters. Two words, a name.

“Corvinus Gaunt.” Riddle spoke solemnly. “My great-great grandfather.”

Riddle thought for a moment, and then he said something short in parseltongue. Elizabeth watched as the dark tunnel opened up even wider–and from the stone, steps appeared to form a winding staircase.

Of course.

Salazar Slytherin had created a fun-house that only his heirs could enjoy. A place they could feel all-powerful…and everyone else was one step closer to death’s open gate.

“You coming?” Riddle asked, looking back at her from the steps.

Elizabeth took one more look at the dark, damp tunnels behind her, and stepped up.

‡‡‡

Elizabeth felt uneasy. Unable to focus knowing what lay beneath the castle, what they were all practically walking on.

To make matters worse, Riddle was acting strange. Even stranger than normal. And it was making her nervous.

“A’right, ‘Lizabeth?”

Elizabeth startled, pulling away from her mind.

“Yes,” Elizabeth smiled. “Just a little distracted.”

Rubeus nodded, a warm smile spreading across his round face. They were outside because it was finally warm enough, and because Professor Kettleburn had set up a pin of Knarl’s for them to observe. He invited them to hold one if they liked, seeing as they were rarely harmful to people. But Elizabeth had been through enough excitement as it was, and opted out.

Rubeus on the other hand, was attempting to hold as many in his large arms as he could.

“Does anyone know what a Knarls diet mainly consists of?” Professor Kettleburn asked.

Rubeus attempted to hold up his hand, but a rather feisty knarl began crawling up his arm.

“Mr. Hagrid?” Professor Kettleburn prompted, amused by the boys struggle.

“Daisies mostly–sir. S’why it’s best to avoid growing ‘em if ya don’t want Knarls to tear yer garden to bits.”

Professor Kettleburn laughed. “Yes! Quite right. And that’s a great point you bring up. Their behavior within gardens is one of the best ways to distinguish a knarl from the muggle hedgehog…”

Elizabeth eyed Rubeus and couldn’t hold back a small laugh as the small creatures climbed all over him. He scooped up one of the knarls, cupping it in his large hand and holding it out for her.

Elizabeth scrunched her nose and smiled, but shook her head.

At the end of class, they walked together up the hill back to the castle.

“Want to see something cool?” Rubeus asked her.

Elizabeth shrugged. “Sure.”

He grinned, “Right, follow me then!”

He led her to the dungeons, a deserted hallway near the potion’s classroom. From experience, she knew that most of the classrooms were empty. He opened one of the smaller doors, and Elizabeth peered into a dark room.

It was hardly a classroom, there were no desks or tables. Instead, a small fireplace and a metal chest.

Knowing Rubeus, Elizabeth grew nervous.

“Rubeus…what have you got in that chest?”

Rubeus gave her a lopsided smile and stepped towards the box. It shook, as if whatever creature inside could feel his presence.

“Maybe you shouldn’t–”

“Yer not scared o’ spiders are ya?”

Elizabeth blinked. “Am I scared of…what?”

He unlocked the latch and slowly lifted the lid. “There ya are little buddy!”

Elizabeth’s eyes went wide and she took a step back as Rubeus lifted a rather large spider out of the box. The creature was the size of a small dog. A grey and black hairy body, eight legs, and eight milky white, blinking eyes.

“Say ‘ello then, Aragog.”

Elizabeth frowned. And then the creature spoke–in high pitched, eerie human words. “Hello human.”

She nearly screamed.

To make matters worse, the spiders legs began flailing–a desperate attempt to escape Rubeus’ arms and get to her. But Rubeus was as strong as he was large, and he easily held the creature back.

“Be nice Aragog! ‘Lizabeth is a friend.” The spider made a low growling noise but settled into Rubeus’ arms. “I promise he won’t hurt ya. Just been a little cooped up is all.”

“Rubeus…why have you got a giant spider that talks down here?”

“Well, he’s my pet.”

Elizabeth didn’t dare step closer, unable to look away from the creature. Afraid that if she did, she might let her guard down and it would lunge at her.

“Yes but–but where on earth did you get it?”

“Got him a few years ago, bought him when he was a wee egg. Nice fella that sold him to me. Said he was coming from Romania. Dina really have a home to leave him at, so I brought him wit me. I come down here and feed ‘em–small creatures and such.”

Elizabeth’s eyebrows raised. Rubeus Hagrid had to be one of the strangest boys she had even met. But the proud smile on his face made her smile too.

“I see,” She said, swallowing thickly and forcing a smile. “He’s…lovely.”

“Human flesh is really what they fancy, but ‘m tryin to train him.”

Elizabeth’s eyes went wide again and her fists clenched.

Rubeus put him back in the box, and to her shock–pulled a knarl from his pocket and dropped it into the box with it.

“That should keep him satisfied for a while,” Rubeus said as he closed the lid. “Thanks fer letting me show ya him.”

“Of course, it’s a much needed…distraction.” Elizabeth smiled, following him out into the hallway. “Are you headed up to the–”

“Warren.”

Elizabeth froze. Looking up to see the very last person she wanted to see right now coming down the hallway.

“Riddle.”

He came to a stop in front of them, clasping his eyes behind his back.

“Hagrid,” Riddle said sharply, eyes moving to her. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, Rubeus was just showing me something.” Her answer obviously wasn’t satisfying enough.

“My pet spider,” Rubeus said simply.

Riddles brow quirked as he eyes Rubeus. “Fascinating.” He said, his tone condescending and uninterested. “We have business, Warren.”

“We do?”

“Yes,” He said, turning sharply and beginning to walk away.

Elizabeth hesitated.

“By Rubeus, see you tomorrow.” She said quickly, rushing after Riddle. He was walking painfully fast, she could barely keep up with him.

“What was that about?” She hissed the second they had rounded the corner–just out of ear shot.

Riddle gave her a glaring side eye, “I could ask you the same thing. Why are you letting that giant–boy show you spiders in empty classrooms.”

“Because Rubeus is my friend. And he’s incredibly kind.” She bit back. “Besides, I’m sure a spider is much safer than the thing you dragged me to last night.”

She watched his jaw tick.

“Watch it,” He said sharply.

Elizabeth huffed, crossing her arms over her chest as they walked. “Where are we even going anyway?”

“The knights.” He said quietly, glancing over his shoulder. “I’ve come up with a plan.”

Chapter Text

“Alright then, Warren?” Timothy Nott sighed as he plopped down onto the couch beside her.

Elizabeth was caught off guard. She wasn’t sure if Timothy Nott had ever spoken to her–aside from the rite of course.

“Y-Yeah,” She stuttered. “You?”

Timothy shrugged. “You know how it is.”

Did she?

Timothy was rather attractive now that she thought about it. Wavy dark hair, messy in a way that Tom’s never was–as if he didn’t even have to try. A faint scar just above his left brow.

“You mind?” He asked, holding up a metal cigarette case.

Elizabeth stared at the cigarettes in confusion. She had never seen a Hogwarts’s student smoke–or any magical person for that matter. Smoking was a muggle habit.

“No, I don’t mind.” She said quickly.

He must have seen the confusion across her face. “They’re Toms,” He laughed, using his wand to light the cigarette. “Brings ‘em from London.”

Elizabeth blinked. They’re–

“I was looking for those,” Francis interjects, swiping the case from Timothy. “Hello, Warren.”

“Hi…” Elizabeth said quietly, watching as he sat down beside Timothy.

Abraxas Malfoy is the last to show up, and by the time he does, Riddle is pacing.

“About time, Abraxas.” Riddle bit.

But Abraxas only shrugs, sitting down on a leather chair and glancing at Elizabeth. “I had something.”

Riddle moves on quickly, beginning their meeting with no formality. “I’ve opened the chamber.”

It makes every boy lean forward, suddenly very intrigued by what Riddle has to say.

“Well go on then,” Lestrange says anxiously.  “What was in it? What’s the weapon?”

“A basilisk,” Riddle’s face entirely calm.

“A…a what?” Lestrange said looking utterly perplexed. “Like the snake?”

“Yes.”

Elizabeth watches as each of them comprehends Riddle’s words–the shock, even fear, evident on their faces. It makes her feel better to know she isn’t the only one that doesn’t think giant snakes beneath school’s is normal.

“Salazar Slytherin placed that basilisk there for a reason–she knows what her purpose is–”

“I’m sorry,” Timothy cuts in, leaning forward with his brows raised. “She?” He scoffs.

“Don’t interrupt, Nott.” Riddle hissed. Timothy leans back against the couch, nursing the cigarette between his fingers.

“We must shift societies focus to pure blood matters–especially when it comes to school. They will be more likely to concern themselves if it has to do with children.” Riddles shoves his hands into his pockets, his eyes moving across each of them. “I propose that we use the basilisk for this agenda. Kill two birds with one stone, if you will.”

Elizabeth and the Knights were silent. Thinking, considering, questioning. Elizabeth was confused and disturbed, her blood running cold. She would say nothing.

“I guess I’m confused. What do you mean use it?” Asks Rosier.

“We kill a mudblood.”

Elizabeth felt as if she might be sick. She tightens her stomach and locks her jaw. Folding in on herself, holding everything in. Abraxas is watching her. She could feel his cold grey eyes, but doesn't dare look up to confirm what she already knows.

“Ok, who?” Timothy asks beside her, far too casually than she is comfortable with.

“Any suggestions?” Riddle’s brow quirking in amusement.

Elizabeth wonders if they know–the knights. Abraxas knows, that has been clear from the first time they ever spoke. But what about the others? Does Timothy Nott know that he sits beside the very thing he feels comfortable disposing of?

“Preferably Yvonne,” Timothy groaned, pressing his palms to his eyes as he leans back against the couch.

“I’m afraid Miss. Parkinson is very much a pureblood.” Riddle said, unamused.

“Yes, but maybe we could make an exception.”

“Any others?” Riddle sighed, ignoring Timothy entirely.

“What about…” Abraxas starts, and Elizabeth tenses. “Margareta Woods.”

Riddle frowned. “What house?”

“Hufflepuff, my year.”

Riddle slides the little black notebook he carries around from the pocket of his robes, jotting the name down. “Anything else?”

No one says anything.

“Right then, you are all dismissed.”

Timothy and Francis stand up together. “Later, Warren,” Timothy muttered as they moved to leave.

But Elizabeth is frozen to the couch. Unable to move as she watches everyone file out. Then it suddenly occurred to her that once everyone has gone, she will be alone with Riddle. And for some reason, the thought made her feel even more ill.

Elizabeth stood, brushing off her skirt and moving quickly after Lestrange until–

“Elizabeth.”

Her teeth clamp down against her tongue.

Using every ounce of strength she can muster, she turned to look at him. “Yes?” She said quietly, listening as the door shuts behind Lestrange, leaving them alone.

“Where are you going?” He frowned.

“To bed.” Her words short, afraid that if she opens her mouth too much, she might actually be sick on the floor.

His jaw ticked, and she watched as he bit the inner flesh of his cheeks. It hollowed out his cheekbones in a way that makes him look even more intimidating. 

“I could walk you back.”

Elizabeth stilled. Under normal circumstances, the offer would have made her quake. Swooning like the desperate, yearning schoolgirl she was. But instead, she felt her body tighten–muscles drawing in as if they would find refuge there.

“I’m fine.” Her words short and clipped. “I’d rather walk alone.”

“And I’d really rather you didn’t,” he bit harshly. Eyes flickering with a rage and passion very different from before.

Elizabeth shifted her gaze to the ceiling above, biting her cheek in an effort to keep her cool. He was a spoiled child, she thought. Just like the others. Heir to an ancient, powerful line. The right sort of blood and the confidence to go with it. He probably had a doting mother that gave him everything and anything he wanted. She had to remember that.

“Fine.” She said through clenched teeth, turning quickly and opening the door. Not waiting for him as she made her way down the hall–and yet she knew he was there. His long legs allowed him to catch up in a mere few strides.

Out of pure defiance, she said nothing. She had nothing to say to him now. He–likely knowing nothing of her circumstance–felt within his right to wage war on the school. And in turn…the wizarding community. It didn’t feel like a stretch. But now, she knew exactly what he was capable of. And Tom Riddle was nothing if not ambitious.

Step by step, they walked in silence. God, he better not be in her mind… The tension built until finally, Riddle spoke quietly.

“The year’s almost over.”

Elizabeth shifted. Unsure whether or not his statement even warranted a response. There were too many emotions mixing inside her, coexisting as one disgusting concoction. The yearning and aching…sitting far too close to her fear.

He went on, still not looking at her, “Do you have plans for the summer?”

It wasn’t what she had been expecting. A question she feared every year when reality sunk in again–reality outside of the castle walls. Riddle didn’t know anything about her family, her life outside of Hogwarts. And to be fair, she knew nothing about his. But somehow, his question felt targeted.

Her summer plans would likely be the same as they had been her whole life. Go home, back to her small little house, and rot away until the days started to grow cooler. And that blessed letter was delivered again. Wait and hope, drown out the feeling of being watched. Try not to feel like a foreign creature, an explosive just waiting to be triggered.

She promised herself that one day, she would figure out a way to leave. Save up enough money to stay somewhere else during the summer. But that hadn’t happened yet.

“No, not really.” She said quietly. Trying not to sound bitter, trying not to show how much emotion lay within her answer.

“Good.” He said, his reply making her eye him suspiciously. “I’m going on an important trip this summer. I’d like for you to accompany me.”

“Where?” She asked, dumbfounded by his proposal.

“Little Hangleton…among other places.”

She had never heard of the town, and whatever Riddle had planned, she had a sinking suspicion that it wasn’t good.

“Of course, you can think about it–”

“Why?”

Riddle scoffed, “It doesn’t matter why–”   

“It does matter,” Elizabeth hissed, stopping in her tracks and gazing up at him furiously. “I understand that you aren’t accustomed to being questioned or told no. But I am not about to follow you around like some dumb bunny without a proper explanation.”

She seethed, chest rising and falling heavily as she searched his face for any sign of understanding. Of sympathy, pity, she didn’t care. Just something–when there was nothing. In fact, he almost looked amused.

“I don’t even know what I’m doing here anymore, Riddle. I helped you find your chamber. I’ve fulfilled my end of the deal and you’ve fulfilled yours–I don’t owe you anything–”

Riddle’s eyes flash and his jaw twitched, suddenly irked by her mention of their agreement. “It’s not about the goddamned deal.”

“Then what, Riddle!” She fumed, her voice a forced whisper, nearly gasping for air in exertion. Her fists shook at her sides as her nails dug into the skin of her palms.  “You have me drink your fucking blood and just think that I  will–”

She was instantly cut off as his hand gripped her face, cupping her jaw and squeezing her cheeks harshly. He lowered his face to hers, eyes impossibly dark.

His voice nearly shook with rage, each word forced from clenched teeth. “Shut. Up.”

Jolted, but not in this least bit dissuaded, she nudged her head to the side to try to free his grasp. It only made him slam her against the wall and grip her throat with his other hand.

“Look at me,” He hissed quietly, forcing her head still. Suddenly frozen with fear, her efforts stilled. “Good…” His voice still low, but hauntingly calm. “Now, you are going to come with me. And you will be completely silent. I suggest we move quickly because Merrythought is about to round that corner any second. And I’m sure you wouldn’t want to be caught in such a predicament as this. Understood?”

She couldn’t speak and she certainly couldn’t nod her head, both of which Riddle was well aware of.

Both hands released her face and he gripped her hand in his, dragging her swiftly back in the direction they had come. Retracing their steps until they were back before the appearing door. Riddle threw it open and pulled her inside. Only this time, it wasn’t the Slytherin Common Room that she found.

It was the library.

Chapter Text

There had once been a little box. A flimsy metal toffee tin that he had scavenged–or stolen, he couldn’t remember.

At that orphanage in London, it had sat hidden away at the bottom of his armoire. The box hadn’t always been his. Neither had the objects inside it.

The box was gone now, lost or returned with the other objects. And yet…it still sat full. Every important thought or plan lay compartmentalized within it…deep in the damp corners of his mind. If he let her, Elizabeth would see it there. But as it were, he had not let anyone see it. Not the box, and certainly not the things within it. The memories and darkest details of his lonely childhood. The secrets within it were ones he intended to take with him into immortality.

And if he couldn’t do that, he would pull them begrudgingly down into death.

Tom Riddle had spent the last 5 years carefully crafting a world of lies. He had made a career out of deception. And thus far, it had worked. It had bought him both power and friendship, alliance and respect. No one would ever doubt the perfect student, the charming, handsome boy. The boy who believed in Gellert Grindelwald’s vision so much that he saw fit to further the cause.

He watched as this girl, fragile and meek, barely standing at his chin–crumbled his façade in her small, shaking hands. He watched as she looked dead on at his little box and tapped on the edges. Beckoning his secrets to come forward. And to his great dismay…they reached for her call.

It wasn’t a great surprise that the room had transformed into the school library, it was where he had done the majority of his research. He dragged her through the aisles, deeper and deeper until they reached the back corner. The corner on magical lineage–the very corner he had taken her to when he had told her about the chamber. When he had told her that he was Salazar Slytherin’s rightful heir.

“Sit,” He snarled, practically pushing her down into a chair. She watched as he pulled books from the shelf, and then finally pulled out his little black notebook. “What I am about to tell you…goes nowhere. You will not tell a soul–there's not another single person in this school that knows what I am about to tell you.”

Elizabeth frowned, watching intently as he threw off his cloak and furiously rolled up his sleeves. “Not even the knights?” She questioned, watching as he bared the skin of his forearms to her. 

He stilled and his dark eyes darkened. “Not even the knights.”

Elizabeth swallowed thickly, “Not even Abraxas…”

Riddle slumped into the chair beside her and sighed. “Abraxas knows very little. He suspects more…” He glanced at her, flicking through the pages of the journal. “But his suspicions are all wrong.”  

She was keenly aware of the rise and fall of her chest, the routine flow of air. It shouldn’t have thrilled her to know that he was trusting her with something not even Abraxas knew. It wasn’t as if she saw him as competition. But still, something in her swelled–parting space between her ribs to make room for whatever he gave her. Whatever secrets he trusted her with.

“Lest I remind you that I have bound you to me.” The words struck her deeply, awakening the cells in her blood–his blood, in her veins. They were singing at his attention. “I will have ways of knowing. Understood?”

She nodded.

“Are you familiar with East London?” He asked, his tone entirely casual.

“I–no not really. My parents live in Amersham. I haven’t traveled much further than that.”

Riddle hummed. “How about Jack the Ripper?”

Elizabeth blinked, startled by the direction this conversation seemed to be going in. “Well…sure.”

“And the Whitechapel slums?”

 “Yes,” She said quietly, each word careful. Rising nausea within her told her whatever he had to say, wasn’t good.

“Good,” He hummed, opening up a book to the very same Gaunt family tree he had shown her before. He pointed to the very last branch, now withered and smudged. “My mother.”

Merope Gaunt, she read silently. 

“Right,” Elizabeth said quietly, observing the name with great respect. It was brown and dead, no longer green and lush. Elizabeth tried to craft a vision of her in her mind. Wondered if Riddle looked like her, if he had her eyes or nose. 

“They told me that she birthed me alone in a back alley.” He said, staring at the pages and branches of the book. “I don’t know if that’s true. The kids talked a lot of shit. Liked to tell people their mum’s were prostitutes and slags. Don’t know if any of it was true. But either way…she left me on the doorstep of an orphanage right in the center of Whitechapel. Right in the heart of filth.”

Each word came like a punch to her gut. The very fabric of the boy she knew crumbling all around her.

“She died shortly after. Serves her well I suppose, leaving me with that filth. Like a zoo of wild animals. Children everywhere, never enough…but I always knew I was different. Could do things the other children couldn’t do. After a while, they learned not to cross me…Found that I could make them suffer.”

She watched him sitting there. Entirely still, eyes dead and focused on a spot ahead. She was no longer watching Tom Riddle, prefect and star student. Top of his class, adored and worshipped by all. No…she was watching a boy. Alone and afraid, abandoned by his mother and left to raise himself in a cruel world. She wanted to reach for him, touch him if she could. Tell him she was sorry; tell him it was alright. But no sounds came out. And she stayed frozen.

“My father was–” His voice crackled. A sign of emotion but not quite sadness. Pure, unfiltered disgust. So strong that he could barely stand to say the words. “My father was a muggle. A rich prick that my stupid mother fell in love with. Only for him to stay in his mansion at the top of the hill… That’s why no one recognizes my name. It’s his.”

She could almost taste the acid in his words.

“A constant reminder, every day, that I cannot escape him. I won’t be remembered by it– I refuse!”

“But it doesn’t have to be,” Elizabeth said quickly, leaning closer to him, trying to meet his eye. Her hand nervously grazed his arm. “Whatever greatness you accomplish will drown out any other connotations. People will only remember you…not him.”

Despite her efforts, he wouldn’t look at her.

Riddle grimaced and shook his head. “No…No, I won’t carry him with me like that. Whatever I do…I’ll be remembered by a name of my own choosing. Something untarnished by him.”

He reached out and turned over his little black notebook, revealing the engraved golden lettering at the bottom: Tom Marvolo Riddle.

He swallowed thickly, reached out his hand, and hovered his wand above the leather.

"I refuse."

Then in a single sweeping motion, Elizabeth watched as the gold letters rearranged themselves. Shuffling into place to reveal two entirely new words. Two words settled within her immediately, as if they were filled with a dark magic of their own.

Lord

Voldemort

Her latin wasn’t very good. But she knew enough to recognize the ending. Whatever the word meant…it would bring death. 

Tears brimmed in her eyes. She quickly turned her eyes and roughly exhaled through clenched teeth. She needed to get ahold of herself. She needed to think. But it was all too much. She was drowning in it, unable to grasp for a single stable thing.

“What are you doing?” She breathed, shaking her head. “This is all too much. It’s too much.”

Riddle suddenly gripped her chair by her thighs, turning her to face him. Leaning in far, far too closely. Their noses practically brushing as he searched her eyes.

“Gellert Grindelwald has a plan. A world where we are the ones in power, a better world. One where we aren’t the ones suffering for being different. I know it sounds harsh–but...but this is just politics, Elizabeth. We need the acceptance of the elite because that’s where the power is, where the money is! A few lives lost, yes. But it’s like he says, it’s for the greater good.”

He so rarely said her name that every time felt like being uprooted, hit with an electric shock.

He leaned in even closer, eyes filled with liquid emotion. His voice fell even lower, “Don’t you get it? He’s building an empire. And we can be at the top…” His hands shifted to grip her thighs, squeezing at her flesh through her pleated skirt. “Where we belong.”

His hot breath against her skin. The rising and falling of her chest nearly brushed his in their proximity.

“It’s why I want you to come with me this summer.” His words low in her ear as he dipped to the space between her neck and shoulder. A certain softness he had never shown her. “I want you beside me as we build this legacy…the greatest witch and wizard to ever live. Forever.” His lips met the exposed skin of her collarbone, pressing a kiss to her skin before rising to her ear. “Don’t you want that with me?”

Elizabeth shuddered against him.

“Yes, but–I don’t want to hurt anyon–” 

“But that’s not true…is it?” He mumbled against her neck, lips tracing her skin and forcing her to tilt her head to make space for him. “That’s not how you felt when I tortured Hornby. When you saw her weak and scared…”

His hands tightened around her thighs, tugging her the slightest bit closer to him. “Don’t deny the darkest parts of yourself, little mouse. It would be a shame to see such unfettered power go to waste.”

Riddle pulled away from her to peer into her eyes, his hands still at her hips. The soft glow of the library illuminated his sharp features, sent flecks of gold glittering in his dark eyes. The look on his face alone made her swoon. Then he whispered, “You’re just like me.”

A shiver coursed down her spine. Because no matter what he meant by it, the response he was trying to pull from her, it struck her as belonging. Filling a deep, gaping hole in her soul. One that normally fills in childhood by loving parents, or good friends. But in her…had remained very much empty. Until this very moment. He wanted her. He saw power and potential in her.

And he wanted her.

Eyes never leaving his, she gave a hesitant, faint nod.

“Yes,” She whispered. “Yes.”

A pearly white grin spread across his face, dimples pressing into his cheeks. And if that expression on his face, the way he was looking at her, was all she got–it would have been worth it. He caught her lips with his. His kiss was gentle and soft. Far, far more tender than he had been the first time. So normally tense and reserved, he touched her with a sweetness she didn’t know he was capable of.

He pulled away far too quickly.

Hair slightly mussed hair and lips red, he grinned at her. “Now can I walk you?”

‡‡‡

With final exams now upon them, it was practically impossible to find an empty spot at the library. Even with her intricate knowledge of hidden corners and shadowed tables, not a single seat was empty. There were even students on the floor, leaning against shelves or hidden beneath tables. Hogwarts was apparently made up of a bunch of procrastinators.

As she followed Riddle through the aisles, they had to step over legs and squeeze between chairs.

“Are you sure it would be in this section?” She asked quietly, eyeing the tattered old spines of books relating to the defense against the dark arts.

“Yes, it should be just…here.” He pulled out a rather thick book. Dark, with swooping red lettering: Godelot’s Magick Moste Evile.

As soon as he had it in his hands, he began walking away, already flicking through it.

“What class do you need that for?” Elizabeth asked stunned, trying to peer around his shoulder as she followed after him.

“Not for a class,” He mumbled.

They found a shadowed end cap, no chairs–but enough space to set the book down. There were a few scattered students huddled over their essays, reviewing potions ingredients and transfigurations spells. Riddle turned through the pages–until he settled on one. 

“This is it,” Riddle breathed, his eyes skimming the page impossibly fast, drinking in every word on the page. She tried to follow his eyesight, find what he was looking at, but she couldn’t quite tell. Then strangely, she could feel panic settle over him. “No…” He muttered. “No–God damnit!”

He managed to keep his voice low, not a single head turned in their direction. But it made her jump. “What is it?” She asked quietly, gently placing a hand on his back, trying to get him to look at her. 

But he wouldn’t look at her. Jaw clenched too tightly, not looking away from the page. As if willing the ink to transform into what he wanted to see. Elizabeth reached out and turned the book towards her. She leaned down and began to read. At the top was a very, very small section. A mere mention of a subject. A single, uninformative sentence. She frowned.

“What’s a… Horcrux?” 

Riddle said nothing, leaning down to re-read the passage. So she did too.

“Of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction.”

That was it. All that this large text had to offer on Horcruxes, whatever they were. Riddle stepped back and shoved a hand through his hair, tousling it in a way that made him look rather unhinged. Nerves on fire, Elizabeth slowly shut the book.

Wickedest…of magical inventions.

“Riddle,” She began quietly. “What’s this for?”

But he only shook his head, picking up the book and heading back for the aisle. “Doesn’t matter now does it.” He said roughly.

“Yes except for that it does,” She said in exasperation, pace quickening to keep up with him. 

We shall not speak nor give direction.

He slid the book back into its place, then turned sharply back towards her. “Just doing some research.” He shrugged, his expression a painful act of nonchalance.

Wickedest.

Elizabeth’s features hardened as she grew wary, but she did not move away. She would not. Riddle’s words from days before echoed in her mind. Each promise ringing within her, beckoning every ounce of hope in her body. Surely, if they were just the same, she too could play his games. 

“I wish you would tell me things,” She said quietly, putting up a front of insouciance. “You forget how useful it is to know someone with library connections.” Her voice rose with a song-song lilt as she turned her back to him, meandering through the aisle–eyes casually grazing the books as she went. She could hear his quick steps following after her. His sudden boyish intrigue.

“What do you mean?” He was leaning over her shoulder, standing above her. Trying to get her to look at him. 

Elizabeth smirked, refusing to look behind her. “Oh but…it doesn’t really matter now, does it?” How strange, she quite liked how desperate he sounded.

She nearly squealed in surprise when he grasped her hips, and in one motion turned her and slammed her against the shelves. “What do you mean?” He repeated roughly, eyes devouring her–searching for any hint of what she knew. The edges of her mind tingled. He was knocking at the gates, prying at them to open. But she would not back down. 

“I mean,” Elizabeth began quietly, staring up at him in defiance. “That if it’s wicked things you’re looking for, you aren’t looking in the right place."

Riddle breathed heavily, mulling over her words. “But how can I–”

Elizabeth cut him off, each hushed word laced with meaning. “Like I said, how useful it is to know someone with library connections.”

Riddle’s hands on her waist loosened. His brow quirked and he looked at her with an expression he hadn’t before–pleasant surprise. “And you think you could?”

“With ease,” she hummed sweetly.

Riddle frowned, the crease between his brow deepening...and then he grinned. “People don’t give you enough credit, little mouse.”

Elizabeth scowled, shoving his hands from her hips. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

Riddle smirked, hands shoving into his pockets as he looked her up and down. “Why not? You’re quite mouse-like.”

Elizabeth looked up at him in disgust. “How so?” She hissed, and then quickly added– “Snake boy.”

The smirk on Riddle's face immediately disappeared, his expression suddenly grim. “That’s not funny,” He snapped. 

Elizabeth’s brow quirked in mock imitation.

“Imagine,” She hummed. “Now stay here, I’ll be back in a moment.”

It surprised her when he actually listened, staying behind as she circled the library in search of Madam Inkwell.

She found her elbow deep in a bin of books labeled: late.

“Children! No regard for time or responsibility!” She cried, her entire torso swallowed up by the bin as she dug around. Only to reemerge holding a large textbook, which she then slammed down onto the desk. She startled when she looked up. “Elizabeth! Oh how good it is to see you! How are your studies? Not too worried with exams are you? Of course, you shouldn’t be. Smart girl that you are!”

Elizabeth could barely respond before Madam Inkwell had already moved on, pushing up the thick glasses on the bridge of her nose to sit atop her head. Her curly gray hair had fallen into disarray, ringlets falling from the knot atop her head and curling around her ears. The poor woman looked as if she hadn’t slept all week, running purely on cups of coffee. “How can I help you dear?”

“It’s actually about exams." Elizabeth smiled, taking a book from the bin and setting it with the others. "You see I have this essay to write–for History of Magic. I thought it might be interesting to write about the progression of the portrayal of dark magic in writing. But I’m finding it harder than I expected.”

Madam Inkwell’s eyes widened in interest. “Oh, I see! What a fascinating topic. Surely Binn’s didn’t give you that?”

Elizabeth shook her head and smiled. “No, we got to choose our own topics.”

“Right then! Yes, that does sound more like it. Well let me think, you’ll be wanting something quite old to start off?” Madam Inkwell began walking through the aisles, unmistakably making her way toward the restricted section.

Elizabeth caught Riddle’s eye from across the room. It was hard not to look too smug.

“Yes! That would be wonderful.” She hummed. 

Madam Inkwell pulled a key from a pocket within her skirt. The lock rattled against the metal gate doors as she opened it. “I’m afraid the only one I can think of is rather…comprehensive. But it should do the trick. What was it again–Bullrick? Bull…” She trailed off as she scanned the shelves, and then exclaimed, “Bullock! Yes, here we are.”

A large black book floated towards her, tugging against the chain that held it locked to the shelf. Madam Inkwell took it into her hands and set it down on the table.

Secrets of the Darkest Arts, by Owle Bullock.

“It’s from the early middle ages. It’s a good summary of the general feeling towards the dark arts at the time–both magical and muggle, which is good. But it does include some good history as well.” Madam Inkwell rambled as she unchained the book. Then she plopped it into Elizabeth’s arms. “Will that do?”

Elizabeth could feel the magic before she felt the weight of it. Heavy, dark, dripping with malice. It was a dark magic that she had never felt the likes of before. It oozed against her, moving up her arms and down her spine. It pricked at her own magic, tugging at the edges. Begging for attention, making itself known.

“Yes, I think it should. Thank you very much, Madam Inkwell.” Elizabeth cooed, a beautiful display of innocence.

“Of course! How long do you need it? It prefers to be back here in the dark. Tends to turn ashy if it’s out in the light too long. Needy little thing. Will an hour do?”

Elizabeth nodded and smiled. “Yes, that should be plenty.” She had no idea if it would be, but it would have to do.

“Wonderful! And just be careful with the paper, easy on the edges. No liquids or snacks of any kind near that old thing!”

Elizabeth nodded eagerly, turning to leave.

“Oh and Elizabeth!” Madam Inkwell called out, forcing Elizabeth to turn and look back at her over her shoulder. Madam Inkwell stood looking thoughtful– as if second-guessing her words. Then she shook her head and gave her a reassuring smile, “Never mind, I'm sure it’s nothing to worry about.”  

Tom Riddle looked almost giddy as she set the book down in front of him, eagerly flipping it open at the first chance. Elizabeth brushed off her hands, hoping to rid herself of that dark, bone-deep tingling sensation.

“You have one hour.” She said, sitting down beside him.

He looked as if he wanted to object, throw a fit, and demand that he be allowed to take the book to bed with him. But he didn’t. Instead, he poured over the pages, eyes wide and molten. Like a child watching fireworks explode in the sky for the very first time.

“God,” Riddle muttered. “This is so good. Incredible…” He trailed a slender hand over the pages. Centuries-old ink, alchemical diagrams, and illustrations. Dark marks and incantations for the most vile and atrocious uses of magic that witches and wizards had ever come up with. And Riddle gushed over it–unsure where to focus his eyes. Touching the book as if it might melt in his hands, disappearing forever. Until finally he found what he was looking for. And this time, there was more than just a sentence.

There were pages…and pages.

Riddle let out a strangled, ragged breath. She could almost feel his beating pulse.

“Yes,” He whispered, his hand splayed across the page. “Yes.”

Chapter Text

Elizabeth felt…off.

As if her insides were somehow out of order. Her bones in dire need of being stripped from her body and thoroughly cleaned. She had barely eaten in days, and maybe that did account for the twisting, aching pain in her stomach. But every time she tried; she could barely finish chewing before she felt like gagging.

She was paranoid. And Riddle had retreated within himself. That book–had consumed him. When their hour was up, she had to tear it from his hands. He had only spoken a few words to her. Part of her wanted to tread softly into his mind and discover what he was thinking about.

To enter that trance alongside him.

That part was viciously stamped out by her fear–fear of what thoughts that horrible book could have possibly inspired.

Horrible, disgusting things that she would rather not know.

She didn’t have much of a choice anyway. He had all but disappeared. It made her paranoia worse not to know where he was, to have no one to turn to. Estella somehow felt even more distant, as if she were a person she had known in a past life. Estella had changed.

Or maybe she had changed. Maybe all of this was in her head.

But what difference did it make?

She tried to greet the seclusion like an old friend. Something safe and consistent that she too could retreat into. The timing couldn’t have been better. May had disappeared and O.W.Ls were upon them. She hid away in abandoned corners when she could find them, books piled around her. She let her anxiety swallow her whole, multiplying exponentially. She took tea and toast to her bedroom, studying for hours before the other girls woke. She crammed her essays into her lunch break so she could fully commit herself to studying after classes were over. And then she would work until curfew.

No, usually she would work past curfew. Because it was common knowledge that you could get away with things during exam season. Professor’s were too busy to bother, and the prefects were just as stressed as everyone else.

It was Friday, well passed curfew and the castle was silent. Elizabeth had hidden herself behind a tapestry covered alcove, transfiguration textbook nestled on her lap and a stack of books in front of her. She had been practicing vanishing spells for hours. She’d mastered them 20 minutes in, but she was too tired to make the journey up the stairs to the common room. Instead, she pressed her head against the cold glass window panes.

And stared out at the star filled Scottish night sky. 

It was a surprisingly clear night, millions of stars against a velvet backdrop of space. It made her feel small thinking about how vast space was, like an ocean with a floor she would never reach. 

A small tap against the glass made her jump back. She blinked, finding a small, black crow staring back at her. It perched atop the stone ledge. It’s sleek black feathers almost looked wet under the moonlight. Elizabeth sighed, pathetic.

“Hello,” she whispered, leaning her forehead against the glass again. She peered at it, and suddenly an idea came to her. She picked up her wand from beside her, and pointed it at the small creature. Eyes trained and mind focused.

“Evanesco,” she breathed.

For a moment, Elizabeth feared that she had simply missed the moment when the bird few away. But she blinked, and it had faded away.

Her eyes went wide in shock. Birds were notoriously difficult creatures to vanish. They had complex vascular systems, and they could fly. The only thing more difficult was large mammals. Like kittens. 

As the realization of what she had done sunk in, Elizabeth blanched. She flicked through here textbook trying to figure out how to undo it.

But that wasn’t how it worked.

Vanishing spells turned things into a state of “non-being” …whatever that meant. Elizabeth paled and looked back out the window.

“Sorry,” she whispered, hoping that wherever, whatever this place of “non-being” was, that it was nice.

Maybe she’d like to go there as well.

“You shouldn’t worry.” A soft voice said from behind her. An airy, enchanting, and slightly disembodied voice.

Elizabeth whirled around, finding Helena Ravenclaw smiling softly back at her. Her dress appeared to sway with nonexistent wind, silver and translucent.

“Helena,” Elizabeth spoke quietly, setting her textbook to the side as she swung her legs over the edge. She glanced over her shoulder at the place the crow had stood moments ago. “I didn’t mean to…” But she trailed off, seeing the bird once again perched on the ledge. As if nothing had happened.

She turned back to the woman with wide eyes. Helena Ravenclaw held the same distant, and slightly sad smile that she always did. “Just as I said. Not to worry.”

Elizabeth gave her a small, grateful smile. Helena tilted her head to the side ever so slightly, gazing at her with a far away look.

“Something troubles you.” An observation, not a question.

Elizabeth shook her head.

“It’s nothing. Just exams…” The look on the ghosts face told her lying was useless. Her expression remained the same, as if Elizabeth hadn’t spoken at all. Waiting.

But which answer was she waiting for?

“The boy...”

Elizabeth felt her blood run cold. No, anything but that answer.

“He is strange.” She continued.

Elizabeth said nothing, unsure what it was Helena was getting at. Even more unsure how to respond.

“I’ve watch him. I feel you in him…” She floated towards her slowly. “And him in you.”

Elizabeth swallowed thickly and looked away. What was it that she was feeling? Guilt? Shame?

“There is much darkness around him, Elizabeth.” Her eyes held so much sadness. It glistened in the moonlight as the ghost searched her face. 

Elizabeth felt something surge within her, and she had to fight to swallow it back. She shook her head and stumbled over her words. “It’s not–he isn’t like that with…” But no matter what she tried to say, nothing felt right. It was all lies.

Finally, she whispered, “There is goodness too. I can feel it.” She didn’t appreciate the desperation in her voice. As if speaking it aloud would somehow make it undeniably true.

Helena’s eyes never left her. “I never said there wasn’t. But it will not save you.” She began to float backwards. “Darkness is a poison…you must not underestimate it.”

Elizabeth stood, taking a single step towards her. She wanted to grasp her, to hold her in place and force the woman to tell her what to do. Please, she pleaded silently. Just tell me what to do.

As if she had heard her thoughts, the ghost spoke. “Do not make my mistakes, Elizabeth. Death is a frightening thing…but eternity is far worse.”

The misty blue aura faded into the empty hallway, leaving Elizabeth standing alone. With nothing to stop her from falling into the deep, dark depths of infinite space.

‡‡‡

Horace Slughorn sat in a velvet green chair before a fire that had long since burned out. Only dying, crackling embers lie in its wake.

He clutched the cold glass in his hand, the dark liquid forgotten. Even magical drink did nothing to calm the nagging sensation twisting within him. A feeling he couldn’t quite put his finger on. A truth that he knew to be there…hidden in plain sight, too hard to see through the obvious.

He was self-aware enough to know that he was not a man without faults. He was a Slytherin, after all, and at times too ambitious for his own good. He had a knack for seeing talent, power, and above all–potential. It had allowed him to keep a roster of previous that had found great success. Ministry workers, quidditch stars, magical foreign affairs officers, Aurors, the list went on.

Powerful members of the magical community. Not all of them beacons of ethics and righteousness…but that wasn’t what he looked for. He looked for people that stood out–for better or for worse.

He couldn’t help but feel as if the very worst had just left his private dinning room. 

And that he had made a terrible mistake.

‡‡‡

Elizabeth had a dreadful headache. For nearly twenty-four hours, the pulsing pain had radiated behind her eyes and down to her neck. She’d done her best to nurse it with warm cups of tea throughout the day, even stooping so low as to wear her glasses.

But nothing helped. As she finalized her letter to her parents–vaguely informing them of her summer plans–she told herself she would go to the hospital wing if the pain had still not subsided after she mailed it.

Her words to them were short. Informing them that she would be home on the 14^th but had been invited to accompany an unnamed “friend” on holiday until approximately the end of August. Not that they had asked, but she felt it polite to at least go through the motions of appearing to be a happy family. They were unlikely to have any qualms with her absence over the summer. In fact, she suspected they would be relieved.

Her quill moved in soft strokes. Sincerely…Myrtle Elizabeth. 

As she wrote out the words, she inwardly cringed. She could practically hear the harsh shrill of her mother’s voice calling out her name. Somehow both condescending and timid. As if the mere existence of her daughter soured her tongue and struck fear into her heart.

She quickly sealed the letter and set off for the Owlery in west tower. The sun was just beginning to set as she climbed the stairs. A soft, warm breeze of early June rustled through the stone room. Most of the owls were asleep, nestled into their straw covered nooks.

“Hello there,” She whispered quietly to a small grey owl called Nibbs, running her knuckle against its feathers. She’d used the bird for most of the letters she had sent–which were few and far between. Her mother had made it explicitly clear to her during her first winter break back home that the practice bothered her.

She attached the thin envelope to a little string around the birds ankle. “There you are,” she said quietly, feeding the bird a treat from the palm of her hand.

Nibbs rustled his feathers in delight, then lurched from his nook and flew out the window. She followed him as long as she could before the creature disappeared into the clouds, and a violent pang pulsed through her head. She groaned, pressing her hand to her temple as she turned to leave. Maybe she should see Madam Noretta about a dose of pepper-up.

She rounded the corner out of the tower and stumbled into a lithe body.

Elizabeth sharply inhaled and took a step backward as the shocked face of Olive Hornby came into view.

Olives cold blue eyes alit with furry. “How dare you–you stupid little mudblood.”

Elizabeth swallowed thickly, watching as Olive pursed her lips and brushed off her robes. As if Elizabeth had somehow left her skirt filthy from mere touch.

Her head pulsed in pain. She didn’t have the energy to put up with her, not now. She focused her thoughts and centred her breath. Pushed any emotion she felt about Olive Hornby into a box, and stepped to the side.

She managed to move past her a single step before Olive whirled around and hissed.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

“Away from you.” Elizabeth muttered, her words devoid of any emotion.

Olive scoffed. “Riddle makes you his little pet and suddenly—y-you think you’re better than everyone else!”

Her shrill voice sent daggers of pain through Elizabeth’s skull.

Elizabeth’s eyes pinched shut, trying to breathe deeply. Just walk away, she said in her mind. Just walk away.

But as she carefully made her way down the stairs, the short clip of very polished shoes echoed after her. Elizabeth quickened her pace.

“Oh no you don’t,” Olive huffed. “You have no idea–”

“Please!” Elizabeth yelled, whirling around to face Olive. Her chest heaved with each heavy breath. “Please,” She sighed in exasperation. “I don’t know what I did to you, Olive! I don’t. I understand that I’m not worthy of your friendship. I know that I am filthy and ugly and stupid–whatever you want to call me, I know. And I am sorry.” Her voice broke, staring at the girl with such rage that it made the magic in her veins burn. “But please–just leave me alone.”

Olive said nothing. Her pointy cheekbones stark against the hollows of her pale skin as she scowled. But she said nothing, and finally, Elizabeth turned to walk back up towards the castle.

Olive’s voice was quiet.

“You don’t get it, do you.”

Elizabeth sighed and closed her eyes, turned around and opening them again.

“Get what, Olive?” She said harshly. It was perhaps the harshest tone she had ever taken with her. But she was simply too exhausted to care.

“Everything you do, everything you are…” She took a step towards her. “Is a threat to me.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “I have never been a threat to you, Olive.”

“YOU DON’T GET IT!” Olive screamed, hands fisting at her sides. Elizabeth tensed and stepped back in shock. She had never seen her so…unhinged. She looked like an angry, spoiled child.

Her blue eyes burned with fury, her shoulders shaking as she fumed. Olive shook her head and said again, this time much quieter. “You don’t get it.”

Elizabeth took a step back when Olive stepped forward. They were on the grass now. If she moved back anymore, they would eventually end up at the bottom of the hill. In the black lake.

Every word that Olive said struck in venom-laced sneers. “It was supposed to be me.”

Elizabeth frowned, looking her up and down cautiously as she took a hesitant step backwards.

Olive’s voice lowered in a mock imitation of a man. “Olive be a good girl! Olive be top of your class! Olive make sure everybody likes you! Olive, olive, olive, OLIVE!”

Elizabeth fisted her wand, gripping it in preparation as she watched Olive Hornby’s descent into madness.  

“But no,” Olive continued, her voice back to normal. “I have to tell Daddy that I can’t be top of my class. Why? Because stupid Riddle is. And just after that is… mudblood Myrtle.”

Olive tilted her head and frowned; voice filled with a sickening sweetness. “Sweet, sweet Myrtle. Everybody loves Myrtle. Myrtle can do no wrong. Myrtle is just the nicest girl!”

Elizabeth jolted as her voice rose. She looked crazed.

“And what does that make me?!” Olive screamed, stepping closer to her. “You made me your villain, Myrtle!”

Elizabeth shook her head. Unwilling to accept a single word of this delusional reality that Olive had crafted for herself.

Suddenly Olive stopped, frozen on the grass and a distant look in her eyes. She whimpered, “And just when I thought it was going to get better.”

Olive blinked rapidly, meeting Elizabeth’s eyes again as a sick smile spread across her face. And then she laughed.

“You should’ve seen it. The way he used to look at me…” Her airy voice trailed off, and her distant eyes suddenly floated back to earth, that fiery rage returning to them. “Before you,” She spat.

Elizabeth froze.

A chill spread up her bare arms, as if Olive had splashed her with cold water. The sunlight was nearly gone, dropping further behind the highland hills with every passing second. Soon, they would be plunged into the darkness of dusk.

“Did he tell you that?” Olive whispered. “He wouldn’t. But I know…I know what I felt.”

Elizabeth gripped her wand, glancing over her shoulder. How was it possible that the grounds were this empty?

“It’s not fair.” Olive whimpered, tears flooding her eyes as she shook her head.

“Olive–I’m sorry,” Elizabeth began quietly. “I didn’t know that–”

She felt a tug at her hand and suddenly her wand flew from her fingers, right into Olive’s open hand. Elizabeth gazed at it with wide eyes, blinking in shock.

Olive had disarmed her.

“Y-You–” Elizabeth could barely form a coherent thought, unable to look away from her wand. In Olive’s hand. 

Olives left brow arched, taunting her. “Wands…are for witches, Myrtle.”

Her magic surged, and before she could second guess herself–Elizabeth lunged.

Olive Hornby might have been able to disarm her, but that didn’t make her a good duellist. She didn’t even try to cast a hex before Elizabeth lunged and had her wrists in her hands.

Olive screamed as they tumbled to the ground, dropping both wands in her attempt to push Elizabeth off of her. But Elizabeth was fast, mustering up a strength she hadn’t known she had as she bore down on the small redhead. 

She shoved her hand down onto Olive’s cheek, pushing her face down into the dirt as Olive kicked at her. And suddenly, they were both tumbling down the hill–and into the shallow depths of the black lake. The pure gravity separated them, but only just.

Elizabeth heaved herself up in enough time to see Olive stumbling to stand.

The ends of Olive’s long hair were wet, so were her clothes. She stood in shock, jaw dropped open. Elizabeth couldn’t help but think that she resembled a wet rat.

“You bitch!” Olive screamed, making a run at her. Suddenly Olive had a hold of her hair, gripping harshly as they both plunged into the water. Elizabeth’s arms flew, fisting for any part of her to grab onto, kicking the water around her. But no matter how hard she fought, she could feel the pressure build as she was pushed farther and farther under the water  

She could feel her lungs constricting. She barely registered the cold water around her, too focused on struggling to pull Olive’s fist from her hair–or her grip around her throat. The harder she struggled, the greater the pressure in her chest became.

She could feel herself growing lightheaded. Her mind buzzing–screaming, screaming, screaming for one thing. She needed air, she needed…

Oh god.

She was going to die.

Olive Hornby was going to kill her. She would probably leave her there. In the morning they would pull her body from the lake. They’d have to tell her parents. Would they even come to collect her?

Her fingers suddenly grasped around cloth. Sliding until they found skin, tender muscle–Olive’s neck.

She might die, but she certainly would not let Olive live.

Every ounce of strength she could muster surged in her hands, gripping around her small neck, dragging her down. She could feel Olive’s throat constrict, the feel of her heartbeat beating beneath her hands. But the more Olive panicked, the stronger she held her beneath the water. To feel her kicking and squirming right alongside her–some twisted part of her delighted in it. To know that above all else, Olive Hornby wouldn’t win.

Her muscles were beginning to spasm and shake, and it suddenly occurred to her just how cold she was. She needed air. It echoed in her mind. Unable to form a thought–a word, other than air.

Breathe.

Breathe, Elizabeth.

She felt her chest jerk, water moving around her and then a sharp inhale. Cold water sucked down her airway, filling her lungs.

Olive was being pulled away from her.

No, no, no…

But she didn’t have the strength to hold her down. She needed–

Her head suddenly broke the surface. She immediately tried to inhale, but no air went in. Instead, her lungs constricted, and she fell into a coughing fit. Water sputtering from her lips with each violent wrack.

Arms gripped around her ribs, and she felt herself tugged out of the water and dragged backwords. She couldn’t stop coughing. There was so much water. How was there so much water?

Her eyes flew open as her body was pushed back onto the hard embankment.

It was just enough time to see Riddle surge forward and drag Olive up from the water.

He was soaking wet. Still in his school uniform, his white button down was soaked through. Dripping dark strands of hair fell across his forehead. His jaw– every muscle in his face and body was clenched so tightly that he shook. And the rage…the unbridled wrath that burned from him lit his dark eyes. Unlike anything she had seen before.

There were times when she had thought Riddle looked more animal than man. More reptilian than human.

No, Tom Riddle was something else entirely.

He held Olive from the water with one hand, fist gripping her robes as he held her at arm’s length. His eyes were wide, consumed by something that almost made him look hungry.

Blood thirsty.

Elizabeth gripped at the ground, feeling for purchase amongst the damp grass and dirt. Anything that felt solid. She watched the heavy rise and fall of his chest, his loud breathing the only thing she heard–drowning out the ever-growing sound of commotion behind her. Panicked voices that grew closer.

Riddle didn’t appear to notice at all. The veins in his neck prominent, his arm shaking, and his eyes never once leaving Olive. The girl looked smaller than she had before. Any anger that had boiled within her before had disappeared entirely. Olive shook, a broken shell of a girl. Elizabeth couldn’t even tell if she was breathing. Maybe Olive was dead–her eyes wide, body spasming with its last bursts of life.

The voices grew louder, descending the hill towards the lake. Elizabeth couldn’t compute what they were saying, their words somehow muffled.

Warm hands on her shoulder and cheeks startled her. She peered up at the woman beside her with wide eyes. Madam Noretta. Her kind face so close to hers, her hands moving across her body. Looking, checking, searching. For what? What was she doing? She was saying something to her, Elizabeth could see her lips moving. But she couldn’t hear the words.

Elizabeth’s lips formed the words. What? But no sounds came out.

Then suddenly, she felt the world around her lurch–and everything grew very loud.

“Are you alright, Elizabeth? Are you hurt?!” Madam Noretta’s panicked voice came first. Her ears. The ringing was unbearable. She felt like she might be sick.

It was Professor Dumbledore’s voice that pulled her fully into consciousness.

“Tom,” the word firm and loud. He stood along the embankment, wand hand at his side as he looked out at Riddle–at Olive in his grip.

Elizabeth’s neck snapped toward Riddle, but he hadn’t moved. As if he hadn’t even noticed that they had company.

“Tom,” Dumbledore repeated. “Please, release Ms. Hornby.”

Finally, Riddle blinked. Elizabeth watched as his fist tightened around Olives robes, and then released. She collapsed back into the water. She could hear the water splash as she struggled, but Elizabeth was only watching him.

He turned to look at Dumbledore with an unreadable expression. Anger still sizzling within him, his shoulders and arms drawn tight. She watched them, a silent showdown of wills. For a moment, she wondered if they too could communicate silently. If Dumbledore was speaking directly into Riddle’s mind.

“Riddle, please escort Ms. Warren to the hospital wing.” Dumbledore said, breaking their silent war.

Riddle’s eyes flickered from Dumbledore to her, then fell to the dark water that came to his hips. His fists clenched at his sides. He took slow steps, wading through the lake until finally he stood in front of her. He still had his shoes on.

He held out his hand. She gripped it, and felt Madam Noretta help her to stand from behind. It took her a moment to steady her feet. She felt incredibly weak.

When Madam Noretta was sure she wouldn’t fall, she rushed to help Dumbledore pull Olive from the water. She could hear Olive’s whimpers. But Elizabeth didn’t care. Nothing else mattered except the striking warmth of Riddle’s hand against hers.

“Come here.” His voice was rough and distant. His hand slid across her back, hooking his arm around her to steady her weight against him. He practically carried her back up the hill. Their soaked clothes pressing against each other.

Elizabeth stumbled at the top, her legs giving out for a mere second. Riddle immediately stopped, his other arm moving behind her legs and stooping to pick her up.

“Wait, wait–” Elizabeth rushed, stopping his hands before he could go any farther. She peered up into his dark eyes. “My wand.”

Riddle huffed. Then his eyes quickly began scanning the dark field. He took a few steps away from her, lighting his wand and holding it against the grass as he paced. Elizabeth took slow steps as she looked, trying to focus on regaining the feeling in her feet. The tips of her fingers were freezing. And as the adrenaline of survival slowly dissipated, she was beginning to feel the slight sting of scratches across her arms, neck, and chest. Each slight gust of wind brushed against them and made her wince.

She blinked, trying to clear her vision as she peered out at the castle grounds. But in the shadow of darkness, the greys and greens merged. She brought her fingers to the bridge of her nose–but her glasses were gone. In the chaos of it all, she had lost of glasses. Her eyes were useless in the dark.

Elizabeth huffed, eyes flittering over the open space pointlessly until something stood out. Stark against the darkness, a flash of white.

She walked towards it, stooping low until her vision cleared. A small letter. Slightly wrinkled with dirt, as if it had been stepped on. She picked it up, twisting it back and forth. There was no address, no name for the person the envelope was intended for. And right beside it…two wands.

She pocketed the letter and picked up her wand. “I found it,” She called out quietly, standing to find Riddle already walking towards her.

Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder, looking down at the scene below. They had sat Olive on a rock, Madam Noretta crouched and observing her injuries. Dumbledore and two other people she couldn’t make out were standing beside them. Dumbledore was saying something to her.

“Let’s go,” Riddle’s voice was low and warm against her ear. His hot breath fanning against her neck. It made her shiver.

This time, she didn’t try to stop him when his arm moved along the backside of her thighs and lifted her from the ground. She gripped her wand in her hands and allowed her head to fall against his shoulder.

She was so tired.

The gentle sway of his steps as he carried her. The sound of his breathing, synching with the steady beat of his heart. She could hear it–pressed against her ear. She closed her eyes.

He had come for her.

The thought made her smile softly. She was not dead. Because he had come for her.

The castle was eerily quiet when they made it inside. Riddle’s steady footfalls echoed around the empty hallways. But rather than the familiar path up the stairs to Ravenclaw tower, he diverged. She frowned. He was taking her to the hospital wing.

Her eyes blinked open and she tilted her head to stare up at him. He glanced at her for half a second, then focused his eyes straight ahead. Elizabeth sighed, her head dropping back down against his shoulder. She stared at his neck, too delirious and exhausted to argue with him. He had a freckle along the side of his Adam’s apple. She had never noticed it before. 

He carried her through the empty hospital wing, all the way to the very last bed in the corner before he set her down. Then much to her shock, he began to peel the soaked thin jumper from her skin. He pulled the knit jumper over head, and her arms fell limply at her sides. Left only in a thin white vest, she shivered at the cold air on her bare arms.

Riddle muttered a warming spell, and she relaxed.

“I didn’t know you knew how to do that,” Elizabeth whispered. Warming spells on people were notoriously tricky. Much harder than charming a blanket.

But Riddle said nothing, his dark eyes far more focused on tracing her skin. The scratches that littered her body, the dark splotches of bruising just beginning to form.

His fingertips brushed a spot along her neck, and she grimaced, face contorting in discomfort. Wand at the ready, he began to moving it up her arm. Muttering healing spells–many of which were rather complex–as he went.

Elizabeth inhaled sharply, “Maybe you should–”

“It hurts.” Riddle said sharply, continuing on as he healing her mangled arm.

“Yes, but perhaps we should wait–”

“It’s fine.” His tone told her that he was done with being questioned. So she shut her mouth, nodded, and instead tried to watch as he healed her other arm.

But rather than watch his impressive display of healing charms, her eyes strayed to his face as he crouched in front of her. The sloping curves and sharp edges of his profile. His brow downturned in deep focus, a touch of displeasure still evident in his expression.

And once again, that feeling swelled within her. He had come for her.

She didn’t bother to ask how he had known. Just as before, just as with every time prior, he had known. And that was enough for her.

“Thank you,” she whispered. He glanced up at her, molten eyes softer than they had been before. A hint of vengeance still lingering in the dark corners. The only sign that he had heard her, then focused back on a deep cut along her collar bone.

His hand against her bare flesh, the sensitive skin of her neck and collarbones made her dizzy with heat. Even if he hadn’t cast a warming spell, she would certainly be warm now. Her eyes blinked up at the ceiling, trying to steady her breathing.

Then she felt his fingertips trace up her neck, running gently along the underside of her jaw. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, trying to hold her sighs of pleasure at bay.

But her efforts were fruitless. A small sigh fell from her lips, eyes falling shut as his fingers brushed a particularly sensitive spot along her jugular. 

“Shh,” He hushed her. But his knuckle brushed against the same bruise again. As if testing her response. 

Elizabeth whimpered. Unsure whether it was pain or pleasure she was feeling. Her eyes opened, lashes fluttering as she peered up at him. At some point, he had moved to stand and now towered above her. Dark eyes filled with a new sort of fire. Curiosity.

“Oh, Tom! Sweet boy! You certainly didn’t have to.” Madam Noretta’s voice cut through the silent. It severed the connection of their skin, and Riddle quickly moved to the side. Madam Noretta was rushing towards them.

She patted him on the shoulder. “Thank you very much, Tom. Oh, good merlin. Have you done all that already?”

Her eyes moved over Elizabeth’s healed arms in shock, then she looked up at Riddle who already towered above her. “You could be a healer young man. You’ve certainly got the hands for it! A real talent.”

Riddle gave her a polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes, his hands moving to clasp his wand behind his back. “Thank you, Madam.” His voice was raspy. He pressed a fist to his mouth and cleared his thought  

Madam Noretta leaned forward and cupped Elizabeth’s check in her hand. “Oh, you poor thing. Don’t fret, I’ve set Ms. Hornby up in a private wing. You have nothing to worry about tonight.”

She straightened and pulled out her wand. Then with a silent flick of her wand, she cast a drying spell. Elizabeth felt her clothes immediately dry up, her skin and hair too.

Madam Noretta glanced at Riddle and blanched. “Oh you too! Hold still–walking all the way through the castle soaked to the bone.” Her wand moved over him, his clothes drying as she went. “You can go on down to bed now, Tom. I can take it from here.”

Riddle’s eyes shifted to rest on Elizabeth, still sat along the edge of the bed in nothing but a skirt and vest.

“Don’t you worry, Elizabeth will be quite safe with me.” Her agile fingers tapped against her wand. “I’m going to get something a bit more comfortable for you, sweetling. Say your goodnights and then off to bed!”

Madam Noretta’s brow raised at Riddle in emphasis. Then she turned and quickly patted down the hospital wing.

Riddle’s eyes hadn’t left her. She could feel the weight of his stare, and she shifted uncomfortably. She wanted to say something, anything to break the silence.

“I’ll be alright, really.” She spoke quietly, unsure whether she was trying to reassure him–or herself.

Riddle’s jaw clenched and he gave her a terse nod.

His eyes flickered over his shoulder, then he leaned forward. His hand held the back of her head, and he pressed a soft kiss to her brow. Elizabeth inhaled sharply, her heart lurching to a stop. Then his lips trailed to rest along the shell of her ear. His voice dark and low, he breathed.

“I’ll kill her.”

Elizabeth couldn’t move. Frozen in place, unable to breathe.

He pulled away from her, and she could feel every nerve in her body scream–yearning for the return of his proximity. She stared up at him.

And then she nodded.

‡‡‡

Elizabeth stripped out of the rest of her clothes and pulled on the soft nightgown Madam Noretta had brought her. There was absolutely nothing she wanted to do now more than hide herself beneath the warm sheets– and sleep.

She neatly folded up her sweater and vest, stacking them atop each other. Then she picked up her skirt, and a slip of white paper fluttered to the ground.

Her heartbeat quickened.

She had nearly forgotten.

Grasping it between her fingers, she sat down on the bed. Then she slid her finger beneath the folds–and broke the seal. Inside the envelope was a piece of parchment. Small, looping handwriting. Neat and girlish.

Her eyes moved across the words. And with each word she read, she couldn’t take it in fast enough. She read the letter once, then twice. Elizabeth’s hands rested in her lap, parchment clutched between them as her wide eyes stared straight ahead in overwhelming shock.

My, my…was Olive Hornby a girl of many secrets.

Chapter Text

Elizabeth slept until mid-afternoon the next day. The bright sunlight disoriented her, and she could hear the loud bustling of Sunday afternoon just beyond the hospital wing doors. Pushing up on her forearms, she searched the room as she struggled to get her bearings. The dreamless sleep potion that Madam Noretta had brought her the night before had left her sluggish and barely able to hold herself up.

The hospital wing was empty, just as it had been the night before. Each bed crisp and perfectly made.

A quiet pattering made her turn her head. Madam Noretta trotted towards her, a sweet smile spreading across her face when she saw Elizabeth’s awake.

“Good morning, Miss Elizabeth! I trust you slept well? You barely moved an inch all night.”

Elizabeth blinked and nodded her head. “Ye–” She began, her throat so dry and swollen that it came out more like a nasty croak.

“Oh dear, careful with your voice. I’ll get something for that throat. A spot of tea as well, will do wonders.”

A small vial of honey-toned potion and a cup of tea appeared at her bedside. Elizabeth eagerly swallowed down the potion as Madam Noretta ran a diagnostic. Various coloured orbs appeared above her, they shifted around with each flick of her wand. Madam Noretta’s brow wrinkled, her thin lips pursed as she hummed.

“Hmm. Much better than last night. But you’ll need more rest. Finish that tea and you can head back to your dorm.” Elizabeth startled when she brought a finger to her brow, tugging up her eyelid to peer at her pupils. “Lots of people very worried about you dear. That poor Riddle boy has already been in here twice today.”

Madam Noretta pulled back and pocketed her wand in her white apron.

Elizabeth sat staring at her, wide eyed and mind running far too fast.  

“Well finish your tea! Don’t keep the boy waiting, I’m fed up with all his questions,” Madam Noretta tutted, shaking her head.

Elizabeth drank her tea quickly, her throat already feeling much better. As she stripped out of her pajamas and pulled on her freshly clean clothes from yesterday, a thought suddenly occurred to her.

What if he had already done it?

She had slept so long, and the rage that had burned from him the night before…she wouldn’t put it past him. But surely Madam Noretta would have told her if something had happened? Maybe she didn’t want to distress her anymore…

Elizabeth slipped on her shoes. And before she left, she tucked the letter hidden beneath her pillow into her pocket.

‡‡‡

When she got back to her dorm, the girls had crowded around her. They spoke all at once, stumbling over each other. Jasmine had immediately started crying. Margaret had been too busy pacing and ranting about the school security measures, or lack thereof. And Estella…had only let go of her after Elizabeth begged to take a shower.

She’d scrubbed her pale skin pink. As if it would somehow cleanse her of the lake. There were no physical marks left. Both Riddle and Madam Noretta had made sure of that. But it was strange. In some way, she wished there were. Some sign that it had really happened, that it didn’t exist just in her head. Maybe if she could watch her skin slowly heal, she would be able to believe that her mind was healing right alongside it.

She changed into clean clothes–clothes that had never been in the black lake–and allowed the girls to drag her down to dinner. Elizabeth made it explicitly clear that she didn’t want to talk about anything related to Olive Hornby–or her brush with death.

They understood the assignment.

“I don’t want to talk about O.W.Ls anymore, Jasmine. I already feel like I could be sick,” Margaret groaned into her soup.

“What else is there to even talk about!” Jasmine cried, then slumped against the table. “My life is completely over if I don’t get good marks. My mum will kill me.”

“Mmm!” Estella hummed in excitement as she took a sip of her cold pumpkin juice. “I’ll tell you what there is to talk about. Did you hear that Jenny Geofrey and Corvus Lestrange–the Slytherin–got caught in the broom closet? The one by the kitchens.”

Margaret and Jasmine’s jaws dropped. Even Elizabeth couldn’t stop her eyes from widening. The Lestrange boy?

“You’re not serious?!” Margaret gasped.

“Jenny?!” Jasmine whispered loudly. “I didn’t think she would be his type?”

Estella shrugged, taking another sip of her juice. “If you ask me, it doesn’t seem like he has much of a type.”

“Good for Jenny I suppose. You can’t blame her.” Jasmine shrugged, taking another bite of her salad.

“But the broom closet by the kitchens?” Margaret droned; her brows raised. “I mean, it’s like they were asking to get caught. That’s the first place they look.”

“Did they get in trouble?” Elizabeth frowned.

“Oh merlin, no! A slap on the wrist at best. No one has time to give Lestrange detention every time they find him with his tongue down someone’s throat. No harm, no foul.” Estella shrugged.

Margaret smirked. “Good to know.”

“Margaret!” Estella gasped. “You would never!”

Jasmine laughed. “No need to share your stress management tips with the class Miss Mildredge.”

“I don’t care who you go around snogging. But we’ve got to have some standards here. We’re Ravenclaw’s–we’re supposed to be the smart ones.”

An arm suddenly looped around Elizabeth’s shoulders, and a strong wave of boyish cologne flooded her senses. Elizabeth’s spine instantly straightened.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty! Aren’t you looking radiant as ever.” Timothy Nott’s enthusiastic voice boomed loudly as he slid onto the bench beside her.

“Ladies,” He grinned at the shocked faces of her dorm mates. Landing on Margaret, he winked, “Looking lovely as ever. I hope you don’t mind if I steal Warren from you.”

He removed his arm from her shoulders and tightly grasped her hand, tugging her to stand up with him.

“Many thanks, promise not to bite too much.” He said sarcastically, not waiting for any of them to speak as he pulled her from the great hall.

She scrambled to keep up with him.

When they made it into the hallway, only a few straggling on lookers were watching them.

“What on earth do you think you are doing?” She hissed quietly. “You can’t just do that–everyone was watch–”

“A little appreciation would be nice,” He whispered, glancing over at her. “I’m saving both our necks. Riddle’s been in a right fit since he went to the hospital wing and you weren’t there.”

Elizabeth frowned.

“Did something happen?” She asked, a sudden flood of panic coursing through her.  

“What? No.” He said shaking his head. “No, just Riddle plotting murder as usual.”

Elizabeth blinked, looking away from him. “Oh.”

“I hear you left Hornby in quite a state,” he smirked. 

“I…I hadn’t heard.” She said quietly.

“Oh, don’t be modest, Warren. I’m very offended you didn’t invite me to see the show.”

Elizabeth scowled.

“Where are we going?” She finally asked as she recognized the damp walls of the dungeons.

He led her around a corner to a bare stretch of stone wall. He leaned his shoulder against the stone. “Where do you think?” He smirked. “Lacertus.”

Upon hearing the word, the stones began to shift. A long stone snake the winded the base of the wall suddenly lifted into a curve—and a set of French doors appeared beneath. Nott reached out and twisted the handle, and the door swung open into the Slytherin common room.

Elizabeth was rather shocked at just how similar the room of requirement had managed to look. She followed after Timothy into the common room, turning to look over her shoulder as the French doors swung closed on their own. The room was empty, but still, Elizabeth was nervous. She had never been in another houses common room before. Was that even allowed?

Timothy shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, sauntering down a tunnel-like hallway. She followed after him, looking at the various doors they past along the way. Were these dorm rooms? It was so different than Ravenclaw Tower, she couldn’t understand the layout. Finally, they came to the last door in the tunnel. A sign posted beside the door read—5th years. 

Timothy rapped his knuckles against the door a few times before he opened it.

The first thing Elizabeth thought as she followed Timothy inside was that boy rooms were messier. Clothes were thrown across the floor and hanging from banisters. Trunks at the ends of four poster beds open, their contents spilling out onto the floor.

That, and that is what awfully dark. The only light coming from a green paned window above. The light shifted, sending emerald fractures around the room. Sort of like staring up at the sky from beneath water. 

No, she thought. Exactly like that. Because they were beneath the Black Lake. 

There were four beds. Each draped with velvet green curtains. At least the bedrooms were not too unlike those in the tower.

Timothy spread his arms out wide and stepped to the side, a dramatic show of her entrance.

“The High Lady herself,” He said loudly, and bowed at the waist.

“Oh, thank merlin!” Corvus leapt from his bed. “You deal with him,” He huffed, mussing with his hair as he stood. Eagerly heading for the open door.

Suddenly Riddle appeared from around the corner. His hair was wet, pale skin slightly flushed. As if he had just gotten out of the shower. He stood there unmoving; eyes locked on her.

Everything about him seemed shocking and out of the ordinary. He wasn’t wearing his usual school uniform. Instead, he had on dark trousers and a jumper–dark grey and clinging to his form in a way she liked. In a way she really, really liked.

Timothy clapped his hands, loudly startling her from her trance.

“Well then!” Grinning between them. “You’re welcome, mate. I’m going to go now.”

She watched as he swivelled on his feet and sauntered out the door, closing it behind them. Leaving them alone. Elizabeth stared, unblinking, at the closed door. Oh god…

Cold fingers pressed against her jaw, and she flinched with a sharp inhale. Riddle had his hands on her, tilting her head this way and that as he examined her neck carefully. He was so frustratingly stealthy.

Elizabeth sighed, “I’m fine…really.”

She lifted her hands and placed them on his wrists, moving to remove them from her face. But somehow, as her skin touched his, she couldn’t do it. She just stood there, practically holding his hands on her.

They were so unbearably close. She could feel his steady breathing from parted lips against her face. Feel the heat radiating from his body.

His dark eyes on her made her burn. She wanted…she needed to be closer. She needed him to close the gap between them and press his body to hers. She needed to feel trapped and steady above water. She was practically shaking with it.

His face inched closer to her. And for a moment, she thought he might kiss her. Her lips twitched the slightest bit with desire. A shaky, stuttered inhale–practically gasping for air.  

Every part of him surrounded her. He smelled so addictively clean. Musky cedarwood and bergamot. Like aftershave or expensive cologne.

It was intoxicating.

The fingers at her neck traced up her jaw. Then he pressed his thumb to her lips, eye’s dropping to peer at them curiously. He brushed against it and then pressed firmly.

“You’ll never do that again.”

The blood in her veins surged. There were about a dozen different things he could be alluding to. All of which would have made perfect sense. Elizabeth stared up at him–completely oblivious. But his eyes never met hers, still trained on his thumb on her plump lips.

He pressed down even harder, parting her lips and grazing the edge of her teeth. The line of his jaw was sharply defined, the veins along his neck prominent as his adams apple bobbed. 

“You come to me first,” He snarled, and the sudden harshness of his tone surprised her. His thumb grazed the tip of her tongue. Elizabeth could taste his skin.

The darkness in his eyes when they finally flicked to hers jolted her. They crackled with a level of malice that she had seen once before. Only this time, it was her neck he had his fingers wrapped around. 

“You’re lucky she didn’t die in that lake.” He whispered, thumb rubbing across the edges of her teeth. He slid to grip her chin, roughly tilting her face and pulling her even closer to him. Her nose an inch from his. “Do you know what would have happened if she had?”

His voice was almost condescending, as if he were reprimanding a child. She didn’t bother to shake her head. It didn't matter, he would tell her anyway.

His grip widened until he had her whole jaw clutched tightly between his thumb and forefinger. Squeezing her cheeks and pushing her lips into a pout.

“They would have blamed you.” Riddle hummed, moving his body closer to hers, their hips nearly touching. His gaze rolled over her face. “The school would have had you expelled, and the entire magical community would have had your head for killing that pureblood girl.”

“And what about you?” she mumbled within his grip. “If Dumbledore hadn’t shown up when he did, you would have killed her.”

A flash of white teeth and dimples, a predatory grin spread across Riddle's face. His eyes moved to her lips again, and his head dipped closer.

“Would you have liked that?” He whispered. Spearmint and cedarwood. It made her dizzy.

“What?”

Molten, crème brulee eyes bore inter her. “You heard me…do you wish I killed her in the lake?” His hand trailed down to grip the sides of her throat and pull her closer. Elizabeth could feel her cheeks flush with colour as he pressed against her blood flow. “Squeezed her neck and watched the life drain from her. Rough and dirty–the muggle way. I bet you would’ve liked that.”

She took a sharp, stuttered inhale.

The letter, tucked tightly into the waist of her skirt, burned against her skin.

It made her eyes glimmer. Her magic surged–the way he was looking at her filling her with a burning desire.

He looked at her like he saw her. Really, truly, saw her.

Saw the darkness in her and wasn’t afraid. Rather than glare at it with disgust and fear–he beckoned it. Like something to be nurtured and pruned. 

She boldly tilted her chin higher, exposing her neck to him and meeting his eyes with equal fierceness. Her eyes said it all. She would not have liked it if Riddle had suffocated Olive Hornby with one hand in that lake.

She would have reveled in it.

And from the shift in his eyes–he knew it too.

“I have something for you,” Elizabeth said quietly, voice a mere breath as he cradled her neck and jaw to him.

Riddle frowned, a lick of curiosity flashing in his features. Dark eyes occluded as he quickly regained his restraint. She grasped his wrists and pulled his hands from her, successfully this time, then pulled the letter from her waistband.

Elizabeth held the small envelope between her fingers, brow raised in triumph. Riddle glanced from the letter to her, then snatched it from her fingers. He flicked it open, eyes moving over the smudged ink quickly.

When the dots connected in his mind and realization sunk in, she could feel it. The excitement that flooded through his magic–she could feel it burn within her blood, mingling with her own. It clouded him in a heavy shadow, shifting with every rise and fall of his chest. Finally, he peered at her through dark lashes–a reptilian, sanpaku stare.

And he grinned, spreading wide across his face. Euphoric and predatory. Heat rose and twisted in her stomach. 

The parchment wrinkled slightly from his tight grip.

“Good. Fucking. Girl.”

His lips slammed against hers, his hand once again gripped around her neck, the other squeezing hard at her waist. He kissed her with a feverish urgency–as if he were sucking some life force from her.

His fingers against her neck and jaw would bruise. In some sick way–she hoped they did. His other hand fisted at her skirt, fingers digging into the flesh of her plush thighs as he desperately pulled her into him. Teeth tugged at her bottom lip, his tongue dipping into her mouth to taste her. Elizabeth whimpered, her fingers moving through his hair at the base of his neck. It was longer than usual, wavy, and messy–still slightly damp and smelling of vetiver soap. 

He took a few steps forward, blindly guiding her backward. His hands gripped at the back of her thighs and lifted her up, thighs automatically closing around his waist as her body slammed against the stone wall. Toned muscle and sharp hip bones pressing against her. Her mouth fell open into a silent gasp, feeling him hard against her as his hips rolled. Left hand pressed against the wall beside her head to steady himself, he sucked at her neck.

Teeth biting hard. She gasped, fisting harder at his hair.

He groaned roughly in response, hips jerking against her again.

Elizabeth flushed, gasping for air.

He liked that.

Experimentally, she tugged again. Letting her nails drag against his skin and dig into him.

He growled in response, biting at her collarbones and snapping his hips to hers–rolling against her so deliciously that her head fell back against the wall. A whimpered moan fell from her lips–desperate for more. It was all so foreign. She didn’t know what she needed. All she could think of was more.

The hand gripping her thigh slid under her skirt. His lips moved to suck against the sensitive flesh where her neck met her jaw.

“T-Tom,” She stuttered, clutching at his muscled shoulders. Not thinking about intimate it was to call him by his first name like this—to have it from from her lips in a breathless whimper. Only that she felt the crushing need to be consumed. To be marked by him, to leave no inch of skin untouched by his hands. To simply feel him against her was so, so good. As if the very nerves of her body, the stars she was made of called to him–awakened for the very first time by his touch. 

He covered her lips with hers. Swallowing any sounds, she wanted to make. His hand suddenly moved from her thighs to hold her ribs, pulling her into him and forcing her back to arch.

She couldn’t seem to get enough air–gasping anytime their lips parted. She was falling apart, and it made her vision blur. Unable to tell whether he was doing the breaking, or holding up her broken pieces.

Positively desperate for air, she gasped and let her head fall back against the wall again. Through hooded eyes, her gaze met his.

A devilish curiosity blossomed in his eyes. The corner of his lips tugged up into a smirk. It sent a haunting chill through her blood, paralyzed by fear and something that felt distinctly like hunger. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t look away.

“Think you can hold still for me?”

Elizabeth blinked. The magic vibrating around her stilled. “What?”

Slender fingers drifted along her inner thigh and beneath her skirt, she jolts as they brush against her covered core–her legs wrapped around his waist faltering in the grip for only a second. But it doesn’t go unnoticed. Her body is pulled firmly against the wall–as if it were holding her. It hit her with a mix of confusion and awe. He’s just managed a very complex bit of wandless magic, a partial immobilization charm.

Riddle doesn’t give her time to comment on his sudden display of skill, fingers pressed against her in a way she’s never felt. She gripped at his neck, fingers twisted in his dark hair as he rubbed her in tantalizing tender circles.

Despite her inexperience, Elizabeth wasn’t naïve. She had touched herself before, a pathetic attempt at relief that never came. But this…this was different. He knew exactly where to put his fingers, knew exactly where to touch, and how much pressure he needed to apply to make her go mad. The same nimble, slender fingers that twisted around quills and ran against the spine of books–now slid against the ever-growing wet patch of her knickers.

Brow pinched, desperate whimpers escaped her throat. The tip of his nose traced against her jaw, his lips a whisper along her sensitive skin. His heavy exhales echoed loudly in her ear.

“Wouldn’t have let them take you from me.” His low words slid smoothly into a rough grunt, his fingers tracing along her folds through the thin material. Middle finger gently circling at her damp core.

“Get this wet for me, did you?”

She was so distracted by the overwhelming pleasure of it all that she almost missed the slight change in his accent. Normally smooth and aristocratic, like he had been trained since birth in diplomacy and French.

His words slipped into something rougher, something distinctly cockney.

A strange reminder that the front he put up was not who he truly was.

It spurred something in her. The sudden realization that as his control slipped, the boy from the East-End slums emerged. And it was her doing.

She wanted that boy.

Elizabeth nodded, eyes glazed over with thick desire. “Tom, please.” She whimpered.

He stilled at her neck, then pulled away to meet her gaze. She had seen the way he winced at the use of his given name before. Noticed that the Knights carefully avoided it. And with the growing darkness in his eyes, she wondered if she had finally said her last words.

His tongue clicked against the side of his mouth, felt his eyes trace every corner of her face. The fingers not at her core lifted to brush a strand of hair stuck to her swollen lips away, trailing down to hold her neck. He stooped down lower at peered so intensely into her eyes that she felt her mind still. Her mind so devoid of any thought other than him, she didn't bother occluding. 

“Please what?” He taunted. 

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Her hips tried to roll against him, but she could barely move away from the wall. She had no idea what she wanted–she hardly knew what there was. She groaned, one hand tugging at his neck and pulling his forehead to hers. The other wrapped around his wrist to press his hand more firmly over her knickers.

“Please–touch me.”

Any control that he had built up snapped. He brushed her hand away in a quick shove. Slender fingers moved her knickers to the side, his fingers dipping into her wetness. They slid through her folds, spreading her slick as if he were charting every curve of her anatomy. His middle finger met her clit–skin to skin–and her eyes fell closed.

“No,” He groaned. “Look at me.”

The slur of his accent growing thicker sent an ache to the very place his fingers circled. Fighting the heaviness, her eyes blinked open to meet his. Her teeth clenched, fingers twisting at the fabric of his jumper.

He quickened his pace and a choked sob escaped her. She could feel his magic around her, restraining her hips to the stone. She so badly wanted to roll against him but the best she could do was press her heels into his lower back.

“Desperate little witch,” He smirked, finger abandoning her aching clit to circle her leaking hole. Her desperate sounds, the way she clung to him–it only spurred the devilish excitement in his eyes. He liked her like this. Desperate and needy. It was all too much–she couldn’t take the taunting or teasing.

“Tell me how much you want it.”

Elizabeth’s heart raced, choking on her words. “P-please,” she begged. “So bad, Tom–please.”

A single finger parted her, slid inside of her painstakingly slow. Her nails dug into his skin at the foreign feeling. Any ache or discomfort disappeared as his finger curled just slightly, dragging out and then sliding back in easily. Instinctively, she widened her legs to take him deeper. He managed to hit a particular spot every time that made her gasp.

He kept their foreheads pressed together–his eyes refused to leave hers as he watched her every reaction. As if the way her body responded to his touch fed him—fueled him. When his finger slid out, he added another.

He groaned at the way she gripped his fingers, taking him in eagerly. “Fuck.” His gaze fell to watch his fingers disappear inside of her. “Take it so good.”   

Elizabeth could feel the electric bursts of his magic. Able to recognize it the same way she recognized her own. It wasn't like that with anyone else, she thought. Not normal.

The muscles in her thighs tensed and she pressed them tighter around his hips. She could barely take in enough air, breathing in sharp, stuttered inhales. And despite her very best efforts, she couldn't contain her mewling cries of pleasure. The stroking of his fingers relentless; his pace quickening and the pads of his fingers curling to hit that very spot that made her stomach tense every. Goddamned. Time.

“I want you to cum all over me fingers, little mouse.”

Involuntarily, she clenched around his fingers at the sound of his voice.

A grin tugged at his lips and her cheeks burned a dark crimson knowing that he’s felt it. The palm of his hand pressed against her throbbing clit, multiplying her pleasure by tenfold as it moved against her with every soft stroke of his fingers.

“Oh—” she whimpered, her voice so needy and desperate it’s practically unrecognizable to her own ears.

“Yeah?” He muttered, his nose brushing against hers. “Gonna cum for me?”

The lazy drawl of his accent twisted and spurred something inside her. To know that this is a version of himself no one else sees. That it’s just for her. That maybe, just maybe he feels something for her too. But most of all–her magic feels like it’s going to burst. Burning hot and pulsing inside her.

Legs shaking, her head fell back against the wall as a loud moan crawled through her.  

Immediately, his fingers stilled inside of her. With her mind numbed and every nerve on fire, it took her a second to even realize. His fingers around her neck pulled her head back towards him.

“What did I say,” His words a low growl, his jaw tensed. “Look at me. Wanna see how good I make you feel.”

She managed a small nod, glistening eyes staring up at his. A shaky hand cupped the back of his neck, and she pulled him closer to her, so their foreheads met once again.  

She practically sighed in relief when his fingers start to move again, returning to their pace. Somehow, the fast fall of her peaking pleasure has made the way she feels now twice as good. It builds and twists. The hand at his neck moved to grip his jumper-covered back. Whether pulling him further into her or holding herself above water, she couldn’t tell. And she didn’t care.

“I’m–” She choked, unable to form a complete thought. “Tom,” She sobbed, inhaling sharply as her hand grasps his wrist. Trying to pull his hand away because it’s just too much. She can’t possibly take anymore.

But he doesn’t stop. Undeterred, his fingers thrust into her a few more times then quickly move to her clit. It’s torturous, sending jolts of pleasure through her. With every flick of his flickers, it builds and builds until finally it’s at the end.

Jaw slacking, her mouth dropped open in a silent O. Her brow pinched, and still she refused to shut her heavy eyes.

“Obedient little slut aren't you." He slurred, his filthy words earning a small moan from her. "Cum for me.”

As if waiting for his permission, her magic surged. The dark, molten brown of his hooded eyes captured her–an anchor as she is hit by waves of euphoric bliss.

The charm that had held her against the wall suddenly released and she instantly slumped in his arms, hips rocking into his hand–fingers still moving against her as she rode out her climax.

Much to her surprise, he’s the one to break their locked eyes. Stooping lower until his lips devour hers. Kissing her so fiercely she worries she might faint. His fingers trail from her clit, slender digits collecting her slick and gliding it through her folds.

It’s tender and slow as his lips move against hers but she’s unbelievably sensitive, hips involuntarily bucking towards him. He groaned against her mouth, tongue brushing against hers.

When he finally pulled his lips and fingers from her, she took a greedy, deep breath in. The first inhale with new lungs and she doesn’t feel so lightheaded.

That all but disappeared as she watched him bring his middle and index fingers to his lips. His long, pale fingers absolutely dripping in her. And as if she couldn’t grow any more heated, his lips part and he takes his fingers into his mouth.

Then he sucked her wetness from his fingers.

A low growl rumbled from deep in his chest, eyes fluttering shut. His cheeks hallowed out, his high cheekbones and jaw appearing even sharper than usual.

Her lips part, but no words emerge.

The thralls of pleasure finally faded, a million anxious through clouding her mind. At the very forefront, why on earth would he want to…taste her? It’s not something that’s ever occurred to her before–but she finds herself incredibly worried about whether she tastes alright now.   

Riddle drags his fingers from his lips, smirking as his tongue rolls to lick his lips. “Taste so fucking good,” he muttered as he pulled her to him again. Hands at her waist and thigh, he kissed her.

She could taste herself on his mouth. But she could hardly let the thought horrify her when her bottom lip is tugged at by his tips–urging her to open her mouth for him.

“Ha–oh MERLIN FUCK, RIDDLE!!”

Riddle’s hands rip from her body, her feet hitting the floor as they startle apart. Standing, panting and flushed beside each other.

Nicholas Avery is stood in the doorway…with his arm slung over his closed eyes.

“You know–I thought we had a no girls rule for the dorm?”

The arm covering his face lifted to peer out of one eye, only to be met by Riddle glaring daggers at him.

Avery shook his head, shoving his hands into his pockets. “No, no. You’re right. Maybe we could come up with a reservation system or…” He trailed off, glancing at Elizabeth with a nervous sort of curiosity. Elizabeth felt her cheeks burn red. God, she must have been a sight. She tugged at her skirt, adjusting it to cover her only dripping core and reddened thighs, fruitlessly attempting to fix her hair. But there would be no hiding the plumpness of her lips–or the bruises along her neck.

“Avery,” Riddle clipped harshly. “Was there something you needed?”

His accent was again crisp and refined, back to the Tom Riddle everyone knew.

The lanky boy quickly shook his head. “No, not at all. You two…yeah.” He gave a quick nod and ducked out of the room, latching the door behind him and leaving the two of them in a heavy silence.

Elizabeth felt sort of bad for the boy. It was getting late, and he probably wanted to go to bed. Most likely what their ‘No Girls Allowed’ policy had worked to avoid. But of course, the rules didn’t apply to Riddle. No one was allowed to hold him to such a standard.

Elizabeth tugged at her knickers and pulled them back into place. “I should go, it’s–”

Riddle’s hand reached behind him, and tugged off his jumper in one fluid movement. His toned upper body on full display. The curve of his broad shoulders, the dips of his stomach muscles that narrow to a defined V that trails into his trousers. She watched, wide eyed as he plucked the white button-up from one of the beds. What was she saying?

“I have prefect duties. I’ll walk you.”

It is not missed by her that the very fingers that had been inside of her just moments ago now expertly maneuvered to button his shirt one by one. Silver and green striped tie twisted into an impossibly fast and annoyingly perfect knot at his neck. Tucking in his shirt as he scoured the room for his formal robes. He swiped his badge from the nightstand beside his bed–which Elizabeth finds herself looking at for a moment too long.

“Ready?”

She doesn’t trust her voice. She nodded, then followed after him in a daze.

Walking in silence is something she liked. Something they both seemed to like and had become accustomed to as of late. But now…she was painfully aware of it’s heavy, looming presence.

Should she…thank him? God no, the thought made her want to transfigure herself into a chair–then set herself on fire. Her nails dug into her palms at an even worse thought. He had been so hard against her, she had felt it so clearly. Her face flushed in a sickening combination of guilt and confusion. She had been so distracted by the way he touched her, she hadn’t even thought about returning the favour. In all honesty, she wasn’t even sure how one would go about that. Or what he would want. And really, he had been the one to distract her. She would have done anything he’d asked but he hadn’t.

Elizabeth wanted to be sick. Because that was, by far, the worst possibility. That he simply didn’t want her to touch him. That he had pleasured her only to appease her.

The signs were all there, why hadn’t she thought of that before? It was no secret that the Slytherin Knights got around. They were the most desirable bachelors of Hogwarts–with the added benefit of plenty of funds and libido to fuel the fire.

And his fingers–he had simply touched her too well. He knew exactly where to touch her to make her keen, something that could only come from experience. Merlin’s sake–the Knights literally kneeled at his feet. Why had she never considered that he was the same?

They reached Ravenclaw tower rather quickly. She could barely remember any part of their walk. Unwilling to meet his eye, she stepped towards the door to the common room.

“Warren,” His voice sent a shock wave through her, eyes flashing to his. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, gaze focused and still. “You’ll do fine tomorrow.”

Elizabeth frowned. Tomorrow?

The heavy cogs in her brain clicked into place–and realization crashed over her like a bucket of ice water.

O.W.Ls.

The first day of exams. She had entirely forgotten.

She swallowed thickly, pushing down the bile in her throat, and gave him a tense nod. “You too.” Her voice cracked as she spoke.

The first tender mercy of her night came as he turned and left. The last thing she wanted to do was try and solve a riddle to get into the common room with her brain barely functioning in his presence. She would have made an absolute fool of herself–more than she already had.

The second was in finding a stashed vial of dreamless sleep in her trunk, which she gratefully devoured in a single swallow–and fell graciously into the gentle arms of unconsciousness.  

‡‡‡

Dear Father, 

I'm writing to update you on my current marks prior to O.W.Ls. I have O's in all my classes except DADA and Herbology, both of which are Es. I hope to raise them in the next week, I promise you I'm working very hard. I have been devoting much of my time to studying, and I feel very confident about exams. I met with the deputy headmaster last week. She felt confident about my progress as well and told me my goal of making the Wizengamot is not out of reach. 

I've also been invited to Professor Slughorn's end-of-year Slugclub party. This could be incredibly beneficial to me. He is known for his ability to spot talented young witches and wizards, and he has excellent pureblood connections. My hope is that this will further secure my position going into Season this year. 

I just want you to know how grateful I am to you and Mother. You have sacrificed so much taking me in this way. I owe you both the world. I try very hard to be the epitome of a pureblood girl and to make the Hornby name proud. Blood tensions have risen a bit lately, no doubt with all this talk of Gellert Grindelwald. But I don't want you to worry about a thing. I'm doing very well, no one would ever suspect a thing. I'll write back as soon as I have taken my exams to let you know how I feel and how the Slugclub party goes. 

Please send my best to mother, and to Poppit as well. Tell her I miss her hot chocolate, not even the school elves make it like her. 

Sincerely yours, 

Olive

Chapter Text

Walking into the Great Hall on Monday morning felt a bit like walking to her execution. The four house tables were gone, replaced by row after row of desks. All four girls had spent the morning studying feverishly. A house elf had kindly delivered them a plate of buttered toast and hot teas. She drank the tea gratefully–and had even managed a slice of toast.

“Can’t imagine how nervous you are, Liz. You could hold me at wand point–and I still wouldn’t take that many O.W. L’s,” Margaret whispered, shaking her head as they found their seats. As if she needed the reminder.

They had Transfiguration first, and Elizabeth felt alright about it. It was one of her better subjects. At least for this one–it wasn’t the exam or heavy weight of her future prospects dangling before her that made her stomach twist with anxiety.

All morning she had told herself she would not search the room for him. Or for Olive Hornby. She needed to focus. It was bad enough that she had spent the night before the first exam with Riddle’s fingers inside of her. She couldn’t let him distract her like that. Especially if he was going to act like she didn’t mean anything to him afterward. No, she needed to put herself first. She pushed any thought other than the transfiguration spells she had spent months practicing out of her mind.

“Good morning, students!” Professor Dumbledore’s awfully cheery voice boomed through the hall. It made her wince. “Please find your seats. I’m sure everyone would like to get started. Many of you have spent the year preparing for this moment–and I have great faith that you will do wonderfully. Those of you that have not…” His brows raised and he grinned as his eyes moved over the room. “You will have to hope that your natural genius has shown up today.”

Jasmine sat down at the desk behind Elizabeth and snorted. “He probably made it extra hard.”

“Don’t be stupid Jasmine, the professors don’t write the exams. The Ministry does,” Margaret said, twisting her quill between her fingers anxiously.

“Oh,” Jasmine frowned. “Well, that’s even worse.”

Margaret nodded in agreement.

“Where’s Estella?” Elizabeth asked quietly, searching the crowded hall for the blonde girl. She hadn’t seen her since they left Ravenclaw tower. Her eyes moved over the hordes of bustling 5^th years, all anxiously finding their seats–until she spotted her. Standing in the back clutching George’s hands as they whispered to each other.

“Of course,” Margaret laughed. “She said something about a good luck kiss. Give myself a good luck kiss.” She huffed.

Elizabeth quickly looked away from the two as George leaned down to kiss her. She felt…unreasonably offput by it. The softness of it, perhaps. And as her eyes shifted away, they locked with molten darkness.

Riddle sat surrounded by the Knights. They talked and moved around him, but he was completely still. His head resting in his hand as he leaned against the desk. Even from across the room she could see his right leg shaking beneath it. Was it possible? Could Tom Riddle be…nervous?

His eyes still locked with hers, he smirked, and his left eye dropped into a wink. Immediately, Elizabeth inhaled sharply and looked away. Focus. Focus, Elizabeth.

A minute later, Dumbledore clapped his hands–and a stack of papers dropped onto her desk. “Begin!”

It was the longest written exam she’d ever taken. Pages, and pages, and pages of questions. Tedious questions as well, like ‘What are the limitations of an Inanimatus Conjuring Spell?’ and ‘Please describe the difference in wand movement for a Partial Vanishing Spell in comparison to a Vanishing Spell.’ By lunch, her hand ached and she was starving. The 5^th years ate mostly in silence. Too tired from the written portion–and still anxious about the practical.

“Think I switched up the wand movement for a Goldfinch to Golden Snitch with the one for a Ferret to a Feather Duster,” Jasmine whispered solemnly, taking a rather sad bite of her croissant.

Estella gave her a reassuring smile. “S’alright, it’s not like those are one’s you’ll be using regularly.”

The worst part about the practical exam was the waiting. Having to watch the other students either fail miserably or do incredibly well.

Finally, Professor Dumbledore set a small teacup on her desk. His hands clasped behind his back as he stared down at her. His misty eyes twinkling, “Ready?”

Elizabeth nodded.

The teacup transformed into a small black kitten. She inhaled sharply, shoulders tensing as her eyes moved from the creature to Professor Dumbledore. She hated the way he looked at her. As if he saw right through her–knew more than her.

“Miss Warren, I’d like you to perform a basic Vanishing Spell on this cat.”

She’d known it the moment she recognized the animal, but still…she would have liked to be wrong just this once. She knew very well that a kitten was the most difficult animal to Vanish. He knew it too.

Wand twisting in her fingers, she gave at tense nod. She straightened her shoulders and stood up straight–wand arm reaching out. The incantation echoed in her mind over and over again, rehearsing the wand movement. Both of which were important, but the key to successful transfiguration was intention. She needed to truly acknowledge the potential of this small animal to simply vanish. She needed to imagine the air around it as swallowing it whole, the space where it had once been completely void of anything.

A deep breath in.

“Evanesco.”

Her voice soft and clear, a swift downward swoosh of her wand.

And the black kitten faded into non-being.

Elizabeth stared blankly at the now empty desk a moment too long before quickly looking up. Dumbledore smiled down at her with that same knowing look.

“Well done, Elizabeth!” His voice low as he gave her a nod of approval, eyes twinkling.

And that was that.

She had Ancient Runes on Tuesday, which thank Merlin didn’t have a practical. It meant she could hide away and study for Herbology. The days passed in a blur, every day the same as the last. A twisting sickness in the morning, painstaking written exam, a melancholy lunch, an anxious practical–only to retreat to bed at the end of the day. Feeling far too exhausted to do it all again.

By Friday, it felt as if she had crawled through the trenches–only to be met by the Defence Against the Dark Arts examination. She felt really good about the written half. Memorization was easy when most of the topics piqued her interest. However…duelling was certainly not her interest. She was too anxious to act quickly. Always seeming to gradually lose control of her magic.

When the moment came, she felt as if Salazar himself has smiled upon her. Even with the sharp looking Ministry woman watching her intently, her thin lips pursed and eyes narrowed. Professor Merrythought directed her to cast a few defensive spells and hexes–and she managed to cast a Propulsare Negans perfectly.

“Well done, Elizabeth!” The blonde witch grinned, cheeks pink and hair braided in a complex chignon. Her delicate fingers gave Elizabeth a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. The skin around her eyes wrinkled as she smiled brightly. Then she winked, “Best I’ve seen all day.”

Before scampering out of the hall to crawl into bed and hide–she searched the room for Estella. She had been so caught up in her worry, she wasn’t sure if she had gone yet. She found no Estella…but instead found her gaze drawn toward Riddle at the front of the room. She hadn’t seen him in days. Too caught up in her own anxiety–and blissfully avoidant.

He was speaking with a different Ministry official, a tall man in a dark tweed suit and top hat. She wondered what they could possibly be talking about that had the official shaking Riddle’s hand, and she scowled. Leave it to Tom Riddle to become friendly with the very Ministry official that was supposed to be observing him. As if he needed any help getting a good score.

Professor Merrythought hesitantly stepped in, smiling sweetly as she said something to the official. Elizabeth’s eyes carefully watched the hand she placed on the back of Riddle’s arm. Then Professor Merrythought guided Tom to a small chest. She stepped away, explaining something to him as she bent over and placed a hand on the latch. He gave her a small nod, and Merrythought opened the chest.

Elizabeth knew exactly what this was. A Boggart.

They had practiced with them at the very beginning of last year. Well before she had become acquainted with Riddle or his Knights. Professor Merrythought had trained them one at a time–in private. Arguing that she hadn’t wanted to embarrass anyone by exposing their fears. And as such, she had no idea what would come from the chest. What Tom Riddle feared the very most.

She took a few steps forward, moving through a crowd of students to see better. Trying to see past the darkness of the little chest, expecting something to crawl out from within it.

But nothing came.

Elizabeth stopped, staring at the chest–open and unmoving.

And for a moment it made sense. Of course. There was nothing that scared him. Nothing could ever scare Tom Riddle. Not the leader of men, the king of snakes.

Then a small box, barely visible through a cloud of darkness, rose from the chest. It shook, as if something were trapped inside. Merrythought and the Ministry official moved forward at the very same time, looking at it curiously. It shook again, and Elizabeth could see the way Riddle’s back stiffened, watched his grip on his wand tightened. And within a moment, he had raised his wand and the box was transformed into a small snake. It curled around itself, thrashing in mid-air before it fell back into the chest.

Professor Merrythought startled, quickly jerking her wand to slam the chest shut, trapping the snake inside. Still, she gave Riddle a proud–albeit nervous–smile and the Ministry official shook his hand.

Elizabeth figured that would be it. Instead, the official guided him towards a practice duelling dummy. Riddle then proceeded to put on a show. He cast spells she didn’t even know about, all with devastating accuracy and agility. His posture remained perfectly still when every spell. Practically every defensive spell, jinx, and hex they had learned in the past five years that would cause notable damage.

When the dummy was practically obliterated–smoking and sizzling with sporadic sparks–he let his wand arm drop to his side. Calm and collected. Perfectly poised. As if he were demonstrating 1^st year charms.

Professor Merrythought’s incessant, cheerful clapping pulled her from her trance, only now noticing that several more heads had turned towards Riddle and his theatrical show. Eyes watching him carefully–curiously, jealously. Fearfully.

He went back to talking with the official and Merrythought. Hands clasped behind his back, he nodded at the official’s words with a distant look.

And then suddenly his eyes held hers. The change so quick, it sent a delayed jolt of shock through her. She could feel the familiar tug against her mental barriers. They were flimsy and weak, unprepared after so much time alone. She knew she needed to look away, but the effort was too great.

He slipped into her mind easily–painlessly.

She could feel him there, his presence a heavy smoke. And in that space where their minds touched there was silence. Even through the haze, he made no attempt at communication.

Like struggling through thick water, she pulled herself from the fog. Severing the connection and quickly turning away, she moved through the Great Hall. Breathing heavily as she tried to clear her mind, reaching for anything as she pulled herself from the hall and into the abandoned corridors. She clutched at the stone wall, trying to steady herself, and a keen sense of panic grew within her.

Maybe it was a lack of sleep, the exhaustion of endless examinations. Perhaps she had never really healed from the lake–still drowning somewhere in its depths. The depts of her wrongdoings–her crime of existence–coming at last to claim payment. No matter what it was…she was losing herself. And she knew it.

“You avoiding me?”

Elizabeth shut her eyes and let her head fall against the cold wall. His voice so clear and close, she almost thought it had come from within.

“I’m not avoiding you.” Her voice was quiet. The voice of someone who had already given up on their small hopes of escape.

She could feel him move closer, could hear his slow and careful steps.

“No?” His voice was almost mocking. From beyond her view, she heard him hum–could practically feel it’s deep vibration against her neck. His heavy breath against her skin.

Then he whispered, “Don’t tell me the little mouse has gone nervous…”

Elizabeth swallowed thickly, shuddering as his fingers grazed over her wrist.

In a spur of self-control, she edged away from him.  

“I didn’t want any distractions.” She said sharply, at last looking up at him–and regretting it instantly.

His dark, enchanting eyes as mischievous as ever. Riddle was far too self-assured and confident for his own good. Smirking as he looked down at her in their shadowed little corner.

“You find me distracting?” His left brow raised, his smirk growing wider–until she could look at nothing but his dimpled cheeks. His dark eyes glistening. The way he leaned towards her–

His voice quieter, his breath against the shell of her ear. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He pulled away just as quickly, straightening and stepping away–leaving her pressed against the wall, clinging to the brick as if they were the only true thing in this world.

“You’ve done well on your exams so far.” The tone of his voice was much more casual than she was accustomed to, a far cry from who he was only seconds ago. The duality of man.

She blinked up at him, her confusion written all over her face. “How would you know?”

“I’ve been watching you.”

But of course.

“Right.” She looked away, glancing down the hallway–watching the students that walked by with careful eyes.

Riddle shoved his hands into his pockets, looking at her intently. As if he were trying to decipher something by visual examination alone.

“What?” She asked, growing annoyed and fidgety under his gaze.

“Are you going to Slughorn’s party tomorrow?”

“His what?”

“Professor Slughorn’s end of year party. He hosts one every year.” He spoke as if she should already know this, as if it were common knowledge and she were merely drawing a blank.

“Oh. Well, I don’t think I was invited.”

Based on the face he gave her, one would think she had said something horribly offensive to him.

“What do you mean?” He frowned, then shook his head. “Must have been some oversight. He’s forgetful like that. You’ll come with me.”

Elizabeth’s lips parted, her anxiety quickly doubling. “No really I wouldn’t want to–”

“It’s fine.” He said firmly, his tone suddenly grave. “You’ll come with me.”

Elizabeth hesitated, struggling to hold onto any one thought–worries of all kind racing inside of her mind without care. Of course she had heard of Professor Slughorn’s parties before. The exclusive and highly secretive gatherings of a select few elite students. Slughorn was famous for picking favourites. Students with connections and famous parents. Especially bright students, students with charisma and promise.

Students like Tom Riddle.

And although she excelled in school–potions included–it had never occurred to her that she would be included in such a club. She didn’t even feel particularly bright, she just had a lot of time on her hands and a will to learn. She was quiet and reclusive. She had no connections. No empire that she would one day claim.

“But what sort of party–I’ve never been to anything like that before. What do I even wear?”

Riddle shrugged. “Something nice.”

Elizabeth scoffed. “Something nice–Riddle that’s terribly vague! You can’t just spring something like this on me.”

“I don’t know! It’s not as if you need to wear a bloody ballgown. It’s just a formal occasion, girls usually wear nice dresses I suppose.  I don’t pay all that much attention.”

Elizabeth sighed, pressing her fingers to her temple–feeling as if her head might burst.

“Of course. And when is this party?”

“Tomorrow night. I can meet you at 8.”

She swallowed thickly, pushing down her nerves. And then she nodded. “Alright.”

Riddle pulled a hand from his pocket and placed it against the wall beside her, stepping closer and leaning in towards her. With a slight grin he whispered, “You could wear something green.”

She gave him a quick shove, but it only made him laugh. Trying to fight the flush of her face, she shook her head and shyly looked away.

“Absolutely not.”

Chapter Text

It had never occurred to Elizabeth that most witches magically altered their clothing regularly. The common repair, a colour change, a sparkle charm here and there. Because these were the sort of spells mothers taught their daughters. Household spells. The spells that teachers never bothered to teach you because they assumed you already knew.

Now, she watched as Jasmine transformed her simple, very muggle, black dress. The skirt shortening just slightly, the fabric of the collar twisting into a short cape.

And she realized that perhaps the Hogwarts education was lacking for muggle-borns in a few key areas. 

Jasmine hummed, staring thoughtfully at the dress lying on the bed.

“You better put it on before I make any more changes.”

Elizabeth pulled the dress on, twisting back and forth as she gazed at her reflection in the gold-trimmed mirror.

The short cape fluttered around her shoulders, brushing at her elbows. The material of the dress was bouncy–swishing with her every movement. Completely transformed from the simple thing it had been before.

Jasmine crossed an arm over her stomach and tapped her wand against her chin. “How about the hair?”

“Whatever you think is fine,” Elizabeth said, frowning at her plain, dark hair. She instantly regretted her words when Jasmine’s wand was suddenly at her scalp, twisting her hair into curls–then pulling and tugging it up into a complicated chignon.

“Watch this…” Jasmine grinned, then one by one charmed a sky of constellations onto her hair. “It’s a little something me and Margaret have been working on. An altered holding charm. They’re sort of like pins, but look at how they sparkle!”

And they did. They twinkled with every change in the light, shimmering against the darkness of her hair. She looked…strange.

Not unlike herself, merely transformed. Recognizable–but only just. She blinked at her reflection, observing the girl that stared back. It was a change that she couldn’t quite place.

Jasmine smiled at her over her shoulder, beaming at her handiwork. “You look so pretty.”

Elizabeth gave her a shy smile back. “Thanks to you.”

She slipped on a small pair of black heels, then picked up her wand from her side table. And as she turned back around–wand in hand, her hair sparkling and dress fluttering around her–she realized what it was.

She looked like a witch.

Not just a plain, muggle-born girl. Like a witch. She looked like she belonged.

“I really don’t know what to say. You’re so good at this.”

Jasmine laughed, her dark eyes glistening–bright teeth on full display. “As I said, it's simple really.” She circled Elizabeth again, taking in every detail of the dress. “Any other changes?" Jasmine asked. "How’s the color?”

Elizabeth shook her head, looking down at the dark material. “No, I think it’s alright.”

Jasmine nodded, eyes squinting at the fabric. “A dark green would go well with your hair. Make your eyes pop.”

Her entire body stiffened.

“Oh come on!” Jasmine laughed, immediately noticing the change. “At least try it out...”

When Elizabeth didn’t say anything, the wraith of a girl took it as her cue. Wand outstretched–she moved the tip over the fabric. And in an instant, the black rippled into a green so vibrant and deep she almost didn’t notice a difference.

But there was a difference.

The emerald shimmered in a way the black didn’t. Rather than merely sitting atop her skin–it moved with it. Like the sea against sand, a complimentary pair. Jasmine was right. It made the rich hues of her chestnut hair stand out. Her eyes, normally a bland and lifeless grey came to life. Suddenly a striking silver, with hints of blue and–green.

Jasmine smiled at her knowingly. “I can change it back if you–”

“No! The green is…good.” She shifted in the mirror, looking back over her shoulder at her reflection. Then she smiled. “The green is good.”

She felt so unrecognizable, like a completely different witch. She didn’t feel like herself at all–and she liked it. To walk through the corridors, the light pattering of her heels on cobblestone, and feel like she was walking on air. To feel the stares of other people, people who had never noticed her before and probably never would again.

She felt confident and sure of herself. Magical. Beautiful.

When she rounded the bottom of the stairs, headed towards the dungeons, there was Riddle. Standing in a suit and robes she’d never seen him in. His wavy hair was styled nicer than usual. Staring up at her, wide-eyed and lips parted. 

He had never looked at her like that. It made her stop–pausing on the step and struggling to regain control of her breath. For the very first time, it appeared that she had caught Tom Riddle off his careful guard.

Elizabeth pressed her right hand to the cold stone of the wall, balancing herself, then she took another step forward. And with a careful inhale, her voice was quiet.

“Hello.”

A grin–dazzling and strikingly white–spread across his face, lighting every one of his features. Dimples and dark hair, shining crème brulee eyes in the soft candlelight. She felt like a muggle fairy tale princess…walking to meet her dark prince.

He stretched out his open hand–palm up and waiting for hers. A few more careful steps, and she reached for him. Magic coursed through her when her hand touched his. She wondered if he could feel it too.

Riddle lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers.

“You wore green for me.” He said lowly as her hand left his lips.

A soft smile graced her lips. She could reason all that she wanted to. Argue that she had worn the green for her–or because her friend had told her and it made her eyes pop.

“Good girl,” He whispered.

And she knew that it would never be the whole truth.

“You look beautiful,” Riddle said softly, holding her hand to the side and shamelessly eyeing her all over. Raising her hand to the sky, he gave her a twirl. He looked at her from head to toe–taking her in before his eyes met hers once again. “Beautiful.”

And not a moment later, “Shall we?”

Elizabeth nodded, and he laced their arms together. He lead her towards what she could only assume was Professor Slughorn’s office and room. She had never been there, but she had a general idea of where it was.

The closer they got, her anxiety seemed to multiply. There were other students headed in the same direction–standing in the hallway chatting. They were easily recognized by their dress robes.

“How should I act? I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” She said under her breath.    

“Don’t worry about it. You’re brilliant and stunning. You deserve to be here.” He held her arm tighter, pulling her into him as they stepped up to the door. He dipped his head down, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “And besides, you’re here with me…my lady.”

A 7th-year boy was standing beside the door–head boy Dante Smith, who was notably only a half-blood. For some reason, that small fact eased her anxiety.

“Evening, Riddle,” Dante said cordially, opening the door for them.

Riddle merely gave him a nod, pulling Elizabeth through the entrance with him and into a room so grand it took her breath away.

White, sheer curtains draped from the ceiling–accented by hanging floral arrangements. In fact, there were flowers everywhere. Candles too, floating in the air and over long tables filled with refreshments. Incredibly tall cakes with tiny candles that exploded with miniature fireworks every few seconds. Fruit and sliced sandwiches. Meats, cheeses, and crackers. Towers of champagne–and a collection of fire-whiskeys likely worth more galleons than she could comprehend.

The room was massive, most likely charmed to be even bigger for the occasion. And somehow it was filled with people, more people than she had expected. Every popular or talented student in the school. Quidditch stars and top students. Children of the wealthy elite. Purebloods. There were other professors as well. Professor Merrythought chatting with a student near the desserts, her bright blonde hair and drapery easy to spot.

“I should find Slughorn first, make sure he knows we came,” Riddle said quietly, ducking so she could hear him over the loud gramophones blasting what sounded like a magical take on muggle jazz music.

He guided her through the crowd arm in arm, weaving through dancing couples and people talking.

Elizabeth couldn’t help but be completely enchanted. The magic of it all–the essence of springtime regality. It made her heart burst, to be here in a dress like this with a boy like him. Every step or slight movement was careful, fearful that at any moment her dream would burst and it would all be over.

They eventually found Slughorn–who just happened to be speaking to none other than Abraxas Malfoy. Dressed in pressed robes, white blonde hair carefully slicked. No one would ever mistake him for anything but a Malfoy.

Abraxas noticed them first, his eyes falling on Riddle–quickly cutting him off mid-sentence. And then they fell on her. The very same unreadable expression as always. But this time, she couldn’t help but feel a touch more intrigue from him. As if–maybe, just maybe–she was worth more than mere annoyance.

“Tom, my boy! Am I happy to see you!” Professor Slughorn beamed, reaching for Riddle’s hand. Riddle took it gladly, giving him a firm handshake and gracing him with his usual charming smile.

“Happy to be here Professor, thank you.”

Like coming out of a haze, Slughorn finally noticed her pressed to Riddle’s side and his eyes lit up in surprise.

“Ms. Warren! What a surprise! Aren’t you a vision this evening–you look just wonderful.” He took her hand. Not shaking it but giving it a firm squeeze.

His grey eyes moved between them quickly, taking them in as they stood together. “The two of you make quite an attractive pair–don’t you think Abraxas?”

Abraxas stiffened, standing in visible discomfort with his hands behind his back. He coughed, then quickly recovered with a nod. “Yes sir, quite.”

Slughorn moved on, stepping closer and speaking to Riddle in a rush. “Who have you spoken to?”

“No one yet, sir. We only just arrived.” Riddle said politely.

“Wonderful! Good of you to find me first. There are a few people I want to point out to you. Just there–the man in the blue pin-stripe suit, do you see him?” He stretched out his hand, pointing to a middle-aged gentleman of that description standing near the fire-whiskey. Riddle nodded.

“He works at the ministry. In the Department of Education. He knows all about you. I’d love for you to meet him. Arthur Worthington is the name, good man. And the woman over there in the pink, Ms. Bolinda Haberdash. She is the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic.” Slughorn gave Riddle a wink, “A good woman to connect with.”

“Thank you, sir, I’ll do my best to speak with them both tonight.”

“Right on my boy. Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you two for any longer–go! Mingle, and get drinks right away.”

“Yes, sir,” Riddle chuckled, shaking his hand once again. Giving Abraxas the slightest of nods before turning away, pulling Elizabeth with him.

“A vision,” Riddle whispered mockingly, making her cheeks flush.

“Oh hush,” Elizabeth snapped, giving him a slight shove. Which only made Riddle laugh harder.

When a man dressed in white passed them with a tray of champagne, Riddle took a flute and handed it to her.

“Thanks,” she muttered, taking a sip. It was much better than any muggle champagne she had ever had, but that wasn’t surprising. It was sweeter, and the bubbles seemed to last longer. She nearly choked when Timothy Nott was suddenly in front of her.

He stared at her–grinning wide. “I thought it was you but I almost didn’t believe it. Merlin, how much did you have to pay this nice girl to come with you, Riddle?”

Riddle rolled his eyes, and Elizabeth felt his hand grip her hip tightly, pulling her hard against him.

Timothy leaned towards her, his voice hushed. “Green really suits you, my lady.”

He stepped away with a wink, leaving her cheeks flushed.

“Where are the others?” Riddle asked. “I saw Abraxas just a moment ago but he’s speaking with the Professor.”

“Oh you know," Timothy shrugged, gazing off into the crowd. "Corvus is somewhere. Avery is–ah here he is! Man of the hour!”

Nicholas cringed as Timothy smacked him hard on the back, jolting the dark liquid of his amber drink.

“Where’s Rosier?” Timothy asked.

Nicholas shrugged, “Last I saw him he was outside with James Barry.”

Elizabeth watched as Timothy paled and nervously asked, “The Hufflepuff seeker?”

Nicholas nodded, taking a sip of his drink.

“Please tell me you are joking.”

“I really wish I was.”

Timothy shook his head mournfully. “We had standards once. Morals. I miss that.”

Riddle pinched the bridge of his nose in agitation. “Please. Just find them–both of them!”

Timothy gave a mock salute and quickly went off. With Timothy gone, Nicholas gave Elizabeth a warm smile. “You look very pretty, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth smiled, “Thanks. You look nice as well.”

“I hate these things. Too much talking.” Nicholas muttered, looking around. “Every annoying person in one room, just joyous. Like a bad appetizer for season…”

Elizabeth frowned. “What season?”

“The social season–summertime,” Nicholas said. And when she only stared back at him in confusion, he went on. “It’s an old pureblood thing. Just a bunch of parties with very limited invites. Mostly to make sure we keep inbreeding.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth blinked, glancing up at Riddle. But he seemed distracted, as if he were searching the room for someone.

“Exactly,” Nicholas grimaced, taking another drink from his fire whiskey.  

Riddle’s hand on her hip squeezed, urging her to look up at him.

“Stay here,” He said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Oh–ok…” She said quietly, watching as he left her, weaving through the crowd towards the man in the blue pin-striped suit who had suddenly reappeared. She watched for a moment as he introduced himself. She could see how quickly the man was taken with him, speaking intently and nodding at Riddle’s every word.

“He’s good at this sort of stuff. It’s like he was made for it.” Nicholas said, moving to stand beside her and watching Riddle.

Elizabeth nodded. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone that doesn’t like him.”

Merlin was that an understatement, she thought.  People didn’t simply not dislike Tom Riddle–they adored him. Every single person.

“I wonder what that’s like.” She said quietly, thinking out loud.

Nicholas laughed. “Me and you both.”

They stood in a comfortable silence, sipping their drinks and simply observing. She liked that about Nicholas Avery. The fact that he wasn’t overly extroverted. In a way, he was just like her. Happy to stand in silence, and not feel any need to change it. No pressure to be anything or anywhere else in that moment. 

Timothy returned before Riddle, dragging a disgruntled and already intoxicated Corvus Lestrange. His dark, curly hair was messy. No tie, no robes, only a white button down and open grey vest. His dark eyes lit up when he saw her, quickly grasping for her hand.

“Mon dieu–Elizabeth you look magnificent.” His French accent was thick and slurred as he pressed a kiss to her hand. “Wow, this dress. And your hair!”

Elizabeth blushed, “Thank you.”

Corvus turned to Timothy and gestured to her, “Do you see? Where is Riddle–I am going to steal his woman now.”

Nicholas took the half-empty glass of what looked like elderberry wine from Corvus's hand–the dark liquid splashing slightly. Corvus frowned animatedly, jaw-dropping in shock. 

But before he could argue, Rosier strolled towards them. His dark blonde hair swept to the side, dressed in the same tweed suit he always wore. Not dressed for the occasion in the slightest. His face was pale and sullen as always but with a look of slight satisfaction…

“Where were you?” Timothy asked accusatorily when he spotted him.

Rosier shrugged, taking the half-empty glass of elderberry wine from Nicholas and taking a sip. “Busy.”

“Busy.” Timothy scoffed. “I can’t believe this. First Lestrange and that Ravenclaw girl–no offense Elizabeth–and now you with a Hufflepuff?? What’s next–Potter and the entire Gryffindor quidditch team?”

Rosier raised a brow and opened his mouth to reply, but Timothy cut him off.

“You know what, don’t answer that. I feel sick.”

Elizabeth bit her tongue and brought her drink to her lips, trying not to laugh.

“Where’s Riddle?” Rosier asked, looking around the room.

“Talking to that ministry man over there,” Nicholas said, gesturing to where they stood talking. The ministry official still looked as interested as ever, but Riddle looked bored. His hands were in his pockets, wandering eyes barely focused on Mr. Worthington.

As if sensing her gaze, his focus suddenly shifted to her.

From across the room he winked, and her entire body went warm. But rather than look away and anxiously avoid his attention, she smiled. 

She watched as Riddle shook Mr. Worthington’s hand, ending their conversation. Thanking him, promising to talk soon. Then he sauntered back towards them.

“Alright?” He asked quietly, stepping close to her, his arm pressing against hers. She nodded.

“Good to see everyone made it,” Riddle said, looking at each of the knights. She felt his arm loop around her shoulders, pulling her in. “It’s going to be a very good night gentlemen.”

The knights smirked back at Riddle. It made Elizabeth feel strange. A keen awareness that there was something she didn’t know about. Like being left out of an inside joke. She looked at each of them, and then at Riddle in confusion. Frowning when he only winked at her again.

His lips moved to the shell of her ear, his breath warm against her skin and making a shiver run through her. “Don’t worry about it,” He whispered, pressing a ghost of a kiss to her jaw.

The music changed. A lively tune that had people at their feet already. Riddle took her drink, handing it to Nicholas.

“Come on,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her to the dance floor. Giving the knights one last knowing look.

When his hand found the small of her back–pulling her close and holding her outstretched hand tightly–the matter was forgotten entirely. His feet began to move, guiding her to move with the beat of the music. The sound of a tinkling piano and trumpets.

“Tom I can't really...” Elizabeth began hesitantly, squeezing his hand. She really hadn’t danced like this before. She was stiff, her movement unsure. It was probably painfully obvious to everyone in this room. A sure sign that she didn’t belong.

“Shh,” Riddle hushed her, pressing their chests together. Looking down at her with those dark eyes she loved so much. “Just relax. Focus on me, let me guide you.”

Elizabeth nodded, letting her hand relax on his shoulder. She tried not to look at their feet too much, to simply listen to the music and let him guide her. She messed up a few times, she was sure of it. But it got easier. And the longer they danced, the more she relaxed into the rhythm of their steps. Letting him spin their bodies, moving them from side to side. As if they weren’t two bodies but one. Who would have thought? Tom Riddle was a very good dancer. Sleek and skilled, just like everything else he did. 

When the music sped up and their movement grew faster, she couldn’t contain her laughter. Riddle smiled back, then held out their connected hands high above her and spun her around–catching her and pulling her back into him once again. 

The music changed, this time to something slower. Their movement slowed with it, barely swaying back and forth. Elizabeth relaxed, letting her head fall against his chest. Ear pressed against him, she could hear the steady beat of his heart even in the bustling crowd and loud chatter.

It lulled her, her heartbeat falling into sync with his. He held her so tightly, she could have let her body go limp and she wouldn’t move an inch. He would hold her up and carry her away.

Peace.

A sort of peace she had never known. Its unfamiliar, delicious sensation washed over her. She welcomed it with open arms, happy to drink every last drop that she could. And even then...she’d savor it some more.

She looked up at him. Taking in the details of his face. The sharp lines of his jaw, the slope of his nose. He looked down at her through dark eyelashes. The left side of his mouth quirked up, and her eyes fell to the dimple that pressed into his cheek. Without thinking, her hand left his shoulder–and she let her thumb poke at the indent.

He didn’t laugh or try to stop her. So she raised to her tiptoes, cupped his jaw between his hands, and pulled his lips to hers.

It was unhurried or feverish, but his kiss was fervent. His large hands pressed into her lower back, arching her into him and drinking her in. His lips against hers made her feel light-headed, she almost forgot they were standing in a crowded room.

When she pulled away, it was like she could see them from afar. Standing somewhere outside of her body. Watching the two of them together on a dance floor. And she saw it for what it was.

He had kissed her. Not in private or hidden away in some corner. He had pulled her in and kissed her surrounded by every one of their peers and professors. Like he was unashamed of her. Proud to have her on his arm. To show her off like she was his.

She blushed a dark red at the thought, so overwhelmed that she had to look away.

A move she instantly regretted.

Standing with a flute of champagne between her red-painted fingers was Olive Hornby. Dressed in a fluttering, pale blue dress, her hair in bouncy curls and speaking animatedly with Professor Slughorn.

Elizabeth’s head jerked in the opposite direction. Feeling her stiffen, Riddle frowned. “What is it?”

A heavy sigh fell from her lips. “Olive,” she said bitterly. 

Riddle turned to look, but he had no reaction to seeing the girl. Flashes of the feral look on his face from the night at the lake crossed her mind. A far cry from the stoic, controlled boy before her now. As if he wasn’t surprised in the slightest. 

Riddle hummed, spinning them so her back was to Olive. He said nothing, continuing to move them slowly with the music. She wondered if perhaps he was just occluding. Controlling himself. 

“Tom,” Elizabeth said, trying to pull away. There were things they needed to talk about, things that couldn’t go unspoken. Things he had already said. Things she had agreed to. 

But he wouldn’t let her move away. He just pulled her back into him, hushing her. “Don’t worry about it,” He said quietly, firmly.

Elizabeth hesitated, a retort on the tip of her tongue.

The look he gave her made every thought disappear. His eyes darkened, trailing the exposed skin of her neck and jaw. When his lips met her flesh, she inhaled sharply. Her eyes fell closed as warmth burst in her veins.

“I already told you…” His lips sucked at her jaw then caught her mouth again, kissing her passionately. “I’ll take care of her.”

His words sent a chill down her spine. The very thing she was afraid of.

“But–” He cut her off with another kiss.

“Now, are we going to dance…” He muttered against her lips, his hand cupping her jaw firmly. “Or do I need to find us somewhere quiet?”

Elizabeth blinked, her thoughts short-circuiting and running empty.

Riddle stepped away from her, taking her hand in his and pulling her with him as he led them through the crowd. She quickened her steps, struggling to keep up with him.

The knights hadn’t moved, standing in a near circle–drinks in hand, silently observing. She thought maybe they were walking to join them, but Riddle made no move to stop.

He stepped close to Abraxas who had joined them now, speaking to him quietly. A firm command. From leader to soldier. From Lord to loyal Knight.

“You know what to do.”

Abraxas Malfoy nodded.

‡‡‡

“Why did you bring me here?” Elizabeth asked. The music and laughter of the party long gone, left two stories below. Her worry filled the emptiness left in its wake.

Riddle turned and pushed open the door to the second-floor girl's bathroom with his back, pulling her inside with him by both hands. He said nothing, grinning and putting his lips to hers as the door closed behind them.

But despite his best efforts at distraction, her eyes moved to the sinks at the center of the room. Her chest tightened, knowing what lie beneath.

Her breathing quickened as her fear grew, struggling to kiss him back.

“You worry so much,” Riddle mumbled, kissing the corner of her mouth and pulling her further into the abandoned bathroom. Then he whispered, “Let me make you feel good.”

He spun her, lifting her by the hips and setting her on a wooden table beneath a large, stained glass window. It creaked under her weight, old and unused for Merlin knows how long. She worried it might break.

 Riddle stepped back, his eyes moving over her body.

He shrugged off his suit jacket and loosened his tie. “I was right. Green looks good on you,” He smirked, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up his forearms one by one. He stared down at her with hooded eyes. A predator assessing his prey. The smirk disappeared and he swallowed thickly, the muscles of his jaw flexing.

“The dress stays on.”

Then he fell to his knees before her.

He pressed his hands to her knees, pulling her to the edge of the table, and then spreading her legs. She didn’t bother trying to stop him.

She didn’t want to.

The shimmering, emerald material of her dress hiked around her hips. Exposing her pale thighs and knickers. His lips pressed to her inner thigh, so-so close to her core. He looked up at her with dark eyes. Then he bit her sensitive flesh. She jumped, her shaking hands pressed into the wood of the table in anticipation. His fingers hooked her knickers at her hips and dragged them down her legs.

The cold air against her made her shiver, eyes falling closed for only a second.

“You remember the rules,” Riddle said–his voice rough and low.

Elizabeth nodded, opening her eyes and looking down at him obediently. Eyes open. Look at me.

The first touch of his lips against her had her mouth falling open. Riddle hummed, and the vibration of it rippled through her. His tongue swept through her folds and her toes curled.

Unable to look away, she watched as Riddle pulled away from her. Her wetness was visible against his mouth. Shining on his lips. Smeared across his cheeks. He licked his lips–and a grin spread across his face. “Taste even better than I remember.”

His eyes fell back to her core. Then he spit on her throbbing center, saliva dripping from his lips to her core. He dipped down, licking it up. Devouring her feverishly. Her fingers clutched at the table, wood splintering into her skin and making her gasp. Her now bloody fingers moved to his hair, tugging at his dark waves desperately.

The muscles in her thighs clenched when his teeth bit at her swollen clit–tugging. She had to fight not to wrap her thighs around his head. Simultaneously struggling to pull him away, and push him further into her. Tongue flicking torturously, Elizabeth moaned–and her head fell back.

“T-Tom,” She panted, groaning when he sucked at her again.

She was so close. She could feel it building already, spurring with every move of his tongue, every brush of his teeth.

She tugged harder at his hair, core clenching when he groaned in pleasure.

“Fuck,” He muttered, tongue dipping inside her–swallowing her. His hands gripped her thighs hard, fingers digging into her flesh and holding her open for him. 

She opened her eyes again staring down at him. Hair mussed, brow dripping with sweat. The faint trickling of blood from her fingers smeared against his hairline and cheek. His right hand left her thigh, trailing down and pressing against his trousers. Kneading against his hard length. 

Elizabeth whimpered, feeling her stomach clench at the sight. Drowning in a pool of pleasure. 

Until the sound of someone shifting pulled her to the surface.

Olive Hornby. Standing wide-eyed, her hands at her sides, in front of the door. Watching them with a look of shock on her painted face. 

Panic. Fear. Shock. It all coursed through her violently. Mixing with her pleasure as Riddle brought her to her high. She pulled at his hair, tugging hard. Trying to pull him away.

She wanted to call out to him, but she couldn’t speak. Mouth open in a silent cry of pleasure, unable to turn away from Olive’s look of disgust. Her legs shook, hips involuntarily rolling–thrusting into his mouth. 

And then to her horror, she realized that standing behind Olive with their heads bowed down–the Knights of Walpurgis.

But Riddle just kept sucking. Drinking up her pleasure, licking it from his lips and fingers hungrily. He pulled away from her looking something like an animal–finally satiated after being on the brink of starvation.

He stood, towering over her and shielding Olive from view. Wiped his red, swollen lips against the back of his hand.

Elizabeth panted, struggling to piece together any sound at all. “T–Oli–”

His point finger raised and pressed against his lips. He winked at her.

Tugging at his rolled sleeves, and adjusting his tie. His fingers ran through his hair. And then he turned sharply to face them. 

“Olive. So good of you to join us.”

Chapter Text

Elizabeth quickly tugged her dress down over her thighs, thankful to at least be partially hidden behind Riddle. She didn’t even know where her knickers were.

“Knights,” Riddle addressed them with a nod. “Well done.”

There was a quiet chorus of “My Lord” in response. Elizabeth wanted to stand and see what was happening, but she didn’t quite trust her legs.

What did that mean…well done?

She heard Riddle sigh, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets and stepping forward. Stepping closer to Olive.

“Seems like you’ve picked up some bad habits over the years Hornby.” Riddle said casually. “Torture. Envy. Intimidation…suppose you can add voyeurism to the list.”

Elizabeth gripped the table, cringing at the thought of Olive watching her that way. How long had they been standing there?

“But who knew you were such a liar?” Riddle laughed. Shrill, nothing like the way he laughed with her. It made her cringe. If she had been Olive, on the recieving end of his wrath, it would have made her blood run cold.

Carefully placing her toes on the ground and testing her legs, Elizabeth pushed herself off of the table to stand. Only wavering slightly. The slick running down her thighs was cold. She really wished she had her knickers.

Olive huffed, a sound adjacent to a nervous laugh. “I have no idea what you're talking about. Whatever she told you is probably a lie–”

“Don’t talk about her.” Riddle snarled, stepping toward Olive so violently, it made even Elizabeth jump. “I don’t want a word about her coming out of your filthy mouth.”

Olive was silent.

Elizabeth looked to the knights, unsure of what she was supposed to do. Even more unsure of what their role in all of this was. But none of them looked at her. Not a single one of them even looked up. Dressed in their matching, black robes. The very same robes they had worn the night of the rite. All lined up behind Olive…like a lamb they had brought to sacrifice.

It seemed to click inside of her all at once. And it was so simple. She felt foolish for not seeing it sooner.

Olive Hornby was a liar.

And now…she was the perfect sacrifice.

Elizabeth could see her now, the look of fear and confusion evident from afar. Riddle pulled a slip of weathered paper from his back pocket. An envelope.

He unfolded it and began to read.

Olive paled instantly at his words.

“Dear Father…” He began. “I just want you to know how grateful I am to you and Mother. You have sacrificed so much taking me in this way. I owe you both the world. I try very hard to be the epitome of a pureblood girl and to make the Hornby name proud. Blood tensions have risen a bit lately, no doubt with all this talk of Gellert Grindelwald. But I don't want you to worry about a thing. I'm doing very well, no one would ever suspect a thing…sincerely yours… Olive.”

He trailed off, slowly folding the paper back up and placing it securely in his back pocket.

“Ms. Hornby,” Riddle said mockingly as if he were scolding a child. “What could you possibly be hiding?”

“That wasn’t yours to read.” Olive rushed, fidgeting in obvious panic.

“Clearly.” Riddle droned. “Are you going to answer the question, or shall I?”

Olive said nothing. Frozen in place.

Elizabeth felt like she was watching a play. As if every bit of this had been rehearsed…and she was the audience.

“I’m offering you a final confession, Olive.”

But she didn’t move. Lips sealed shut.

“Very well then,” Riddle said, clapping his hands together and looking at the Knights. “Olive here has committed a very terrible sin. She has taken advantage of a poor pureblood family…and made them blood traitors. Because Olive Hornby isn’t a Hornby at all. She’s a mudblood.”

His words cut through her. Sharp and bold. Like a knife whirling through the air, connecting with her gut in violent force.

Riddle shook his head and sighed, pacing back and forth. “It’s people like you that taint this school, Olive. Taking resources from the people that deserve them…hurting innocent people at a school you don’t even deserve to be at.”

It was hard to tell, but Elizabeth noticed silent tears falling from Olive’s eyes. The slight shaking of her hands and shoulders.

Elizabeth watched as Riddle circled the sinks, stopping before one. Vaguely, she could hear him whisper…a hissing command. His eyes were wide, standing like a child in awe as the top rose–and the chamber of secrets was revealed.

Then he turned to her, eyes meeting hers. And he smiled.

He walked towards her, reaching out his hand. Asking her to take it.

And although fear coursed through her, she didn’t hesitate. At the feel of his touch alone, she felt relief. She could feel his magic…the sheer power of it surging and pulsing. She let him guide her, moving her–spinning her around and pulling her against him. Her back was firm against his front, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. His face buried in the crook of her neck…lips sucking at her skin as she looked at the scene before her. 

The Knights had raised their hoods, the dark fabric falling before their eyes.

But Olive stared at her. Unmoving, silent tears streamed down her face. 

For a moment, Elizabeth imagined the roles reversed. Because they so easily could be. She imagined a different outcome. A life where Olive might have been her friend.

But they weren’t. This was the reality. And Olive Hornby had always had as much agency as she did. Time after time she had made a choice–she had chosen the girl she became.

And now, it was Elizabeth’s turn to choose.

Riddle's fingers trailed the bare skin of her arms, moving down to her wrist…the hand clutching her wand. His slender fingers massaged the tender muscles, easing her. Then he wrapped his fingers around her wrist, raising her hand and pointing her wand at Olive Hornby’s chest. He held her hand steady, even as it shook. She could feel the magic coursing from her wand. Coursing from her veins. The power of it…the violent potential.

Riddle could feel her faltering.

His nose brushed against the shell of her ear, pulling her closer to him.

“Elizabeth…” Her name was soft on his lips, making her sigh with relief. “She hurt you.”

Her eyes squeezed shut, fingers tight around her wand.

“Every ounce of pain that you have felt…”

Her heartbeat hard against the cage of her chest. A heavy, incessant thumping that echoed in her ears.

“She deserves to pay.” He hissed, “She has to.”

Every painful memory of her abuse flashed in her mind. A highlight reel of torture. The cruel words, the biting fingernails. The bruises and the taunting. The isolation. Never feeling like she was enough. The 11-year-old girl who felt as if there was something terribly wrong with her. A child who just wanted a friend–who had never known the steady assurance of love.

Suddenly the memories multiplied, blurred between more painful memories of childhood. Of her parents. Shattered dishes in the kitchen. Spilled tea…hot against her skin. Her father’s screaming–the fear that coursed through her small, frail body. The fearful look in her mother’s eyes…standing far away from her. As if getting too close to the child of her flesh and blood might contaminate her. A small girl. Alone in a room. In terrible pain.

And afraid.  

“Make her pay.”

Elizabeth’s eyes flicked open. Immediately focusing on Olive.

The spell echoed in her mind–the ghost of every pain she had felt burning at the edges. She swallowed thickly, steadying her hand. Her voice was clear…a quiet rage that fuelled and directed her magic. 

“Crucio.”

You could see the pain rip through her before you could hear it. Which was for the best, because the sound of Olive's screams bothered her.

The violent arch of her spine, the way her fingers contorted in pain with every spasm. Elizabeth watched in awe, surprised by the feeling of pure euphoria that simmered through her. As if Olive's pain translated to her pleasure. She felt so good. Untouchable. Immortally powerful.  

When Olive managed a blood-curtailing scream, Elizabeth flicked her wand again–sending a second curse of magic through her. She watched…the pain too much for Olive to make a sound at all. Her jaw locked in a silent scream of pain as her body collapsed to the floor.

Elizabeth wanted to do it again. She wanted to see just how far she could go–how long Olive would last without–

But Riddle held her hand tightly, forcing it to her side and breaking the curse. She felt a sudden urge to complain–to argue with him to let her keep going. Like a child, begging to keep playing with her toys.

Riddle hushed her, rubbing her arm soothingly. “Good girl,” He whispered pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Then he released her, moving to stand beside her.

“Mudblood… I, the rightful heir of Salazar Slytherin, find you guilty of blood treason. And sentence you to death.” Then he hissed a command. And a moment later, an unsettling movement echoed from below.

As if the creature had been patiently waiting.

The Knights seized Olive, holding her up–and holding her still. As if she had any will left to run at all.

Riddle raised his wand, aiming it at her face. Olives eyes were sullen and forlorn. With a flick of his wand, her eyes were completely still. Unable to move or blink. Staring straight ahead…as if she were already dead.

Distracted, she didn’t notice that Riddle had moved behind her until he pulled her against him again. 

“Close your eyes,” He whispered. She did. But still, she felt his hand raise to cover them for her.

She could hear the creature emerge from the tunnel–the chamber below. Its scales moved eerily against the stone floor, growing closer to them–so close that she felt it move against them, brushing against the side of their legs. Like a cat, pushing against its owner in a sign of affection.

It stilled at Riddle’s side. Awaiting instructions from his master. 

She heard him hiss a command, short and firm.

And then she heard the sound of Olive Hornby’s lifeless body collapsing to the floor.

‡‡‡

The events after Olive’s death were a blur. She couldn’t remember the basilisk leaving, but when she opened her eyes it was gone. Riddle had spoken with the Knights, she remembered that. But she didn't remember what he told them.

There were patches in her memory, things she wasn’t quite sure of.

But one thing was certain. She hadn’t wanted to be alone.

The high of her power was gone, and in its wake was confusion. Like existing in a foreign body…unable to feel her hands. Afraid of what she might see if she closed her eyes. What she might feel.

She didn’t feel sorry. Not really. She’d wanted Olive Hornby to die. To simply cease to exist, no longer a painful thorn in her life.

But to see her dead body, lifeless and limp on the floor, was something else entirely. The sullen look in her eyes, as if she had already accepted her fate. As if she were already dead.

Elizabeth couldn’t handle being alone. She’d clung to Riddle’s hand, clutching at the fabric of his robes when they finally exited the bathroom. At first, he had started to walk towards Ravenclaw Tower.

“Please,” She’d pleaded, begged. “Can I stay with you?”

Riddle’s brow furrowed, considering her words. After a brief glance at the Knights, a silent exchange, he’d nodded.

It was later than she thought. It made sneaking her into the Slytherin common room incredibly easy. It was completely empty. They guided her to the room shared by Tom, Nicholas, and Timothy–Nicholas quickly shutting the door behind them.

Tom had sat her on his bed, pulling her small heels from her feet one by one. Setting them on the floor beside her. Then he had stood before her, frowning as he stared down at her hair. And rather than try to use magic, he had pulled the stars from her hair just the same–one by one until her hair fell in loose waves around her face.

She’d watched as he shrugged off his robes. Folding them haphazardly across the trunk at the foot of his four-poster bed. Watched him take off his shoes, unbuckle his belt, and pull the tie from around his neck. Unbutton his shirt one by one and peel it from his skin, exposing his toned, pale body.

She’d sat on the bed, watching as he spoke with Nicholas and Timothy in hushed voices. Felt their careful glances towards her.

Gently, he had urged her further onto the bed. Asking if she wanted to take off her dress. She’d nodded–then felt his fingers, cold against her skin, as he undid her dress. When he had pulled it off her, left only in her knickers–she’d wrapped her arms over her breasts and shivered. A dark knit jumper tugged over her head, covering her. It smelt so strongly of him. Soft and warm.

The quick snap of curtains closing around them, covering them in darkness.

He'd pulled her into bed, lifting the blankets over them and pulling her body against his. Wrapping his arms around her. Caressing her hair softly. And despite the circumstances, it was the calmest she had ever felt.

In the dark, she stared at the outline of his face. Watching him. Feeling him watch her back.

When she was drowsy and nearly asleep, she whispered softly.

“Tom?”

She could feel him hum against her in response.

“What happens when they find her?”

It was a moment before he answered. Holding her tighter against him.

“Nothing.”

He kissed her forehead, his lips warm against her skin. And she fell into a sleep deeper than she had ever known.

Chapter Text

The following day was a Sunday. The castle always seemed to move slowly on Sunday mornings.

Maybe that’s why they didn’t find the girl until just after lunch.

Or perhaps it was because Olive Hornby’s body was the fourth to be found that day. Though notably, the only dead one.

Exactly three more students had been found petrified—within hours of each other. First, a 5^th year Slytherin girl that Elizabeth had potions with. The school fell into a frenzy by the second find–a first year Gryffindor boy. Margaretta Woods–a 6^th year Hufflepuff–was found near the kitchens. The large stack of glass bowls she had been carrying still frozen in her hands.

Elizabeth heard rumors that it was a Ravenclaw girl that found Olive. Lying on the cold bathroom floor, just where they had left her.

Written in blood above her…

L I A R.

She didn’t remember the blood. Couldn’t recall whose it even was.

Maybe it was just a rumor. There were plenty of those.

The castle was in complete disarray. Nearly every corridor on the second floor was warded off, only a few entrances still accessible to allow for movement to other floors.

Questions swirled through common rooms and hallways. Students wondering who was to blame for the attacks. Who had killed Olive Hornby. And why.

“I heard she was petrified to death. Just like the others but…not,” Margaret whispered, leaning over her dinner plate. “Madam Noretta said she’s never seen anything like it.”

Elizabeth stared down at her plate, fidgeting with her fork.

“Jenny Geoffrey wrote to her father–he works in spell deconstruction–and he said he can’t think of a single spell that will leave you in a state like that. He thinks it’s not a student at all–that a creature made its way into the castle somehow.”

Estella shook her head quickly, “That’s impossible. Hogwarts is too safe.”

“So you think it was a student?” Margaret asked, eyes wide with intrigue. Estella shifted uncomfortably, pushing her long blonde hair over her shoulder and reaching for the cream.

“Well–I don’t know. Maybe.” Estella said dismissively.

“What if the creature didn’t get into the castle? What if it was already here?” Jasmine suggested.

Jasmine had been too stressed to eat, her dark eyes blown wide in fear. “Charlotte told me that Ansel’s cat was found petrified just like this only last week. What if it’s been here this whole time and we didn’t know?”

“And what creature can write in blood?” Estella huffed, mixing her pumpkin juice a little too violently. “Look…” Estella trailed off, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I’m not saying she deserved it. But it sounds to me like Olive had a lot of secrets. The kind of secrets that get you enemies bigger than school students…if you understand what I mean.”

The girls blinked back at her. And for a moment, even Elizabeth felt convinced.

Estella took a deep breath, glancing over her shoulder for any listening ears. “You know George’s father is an auror, don’t you?”

They nodded.

“Apparently, the Hornby’s have been on their radar for quite some time. Under a…witness protection programme of sorts. For possible targets of Gellert Grindelwald…perpetrators of blood treason.”

A heavy silence fell over the table.

Elizabeth could barely look at them.

“And the others…” Jasmine began bravely. “They were muggle-borns.”

Estella nodded solemnly. “Exactly.”

‡‡‡

An early curfew was out in place to allow for private transportation of the body. But Elizabeth suspected it was also out of fear that whoever was responsible was still on the lose.

That there could still be more victims. Another death.

The remainder of exams were cancelled. Students were already being pulled from school, rushed home early for the summer holidays. And worst of all the rumours–that Hogwarts would close.

Hogwarts was supposed to be the safest place on earth. And now a student had died, and several others were in the hospital wing receiving treatment for temporary petrification.

But if Hogwarts closed…Elizabeth didn’t know what she would do.

As the clock ticked toward curfew, Elizabeth panicked. She had to find Riddle. They had to fix things.

She weaved through crowded corridors–swarms of anxious students. Luggage at their sides, waiting for the emergency floo passageways that had been opened up to accommodate. Others were hurrying to bed, worried that if they stayed a moment past curfew that some phantom creature would snatch them away. Every muggle-born child was running away. Hiding.

She looked for Tom.

It was hard to move anywhere quickly due to the crowds, but she scanned every face looking for him. Every open hallway and empty classroom.

But there was no sign of him.

Defeated and terrified, she made her way back up to Ravenclaw Tower. And there, standing at the base of the stairway and leaning against the banister–Nicholas and Timothy.

Just the sight of them had her breathing a sigh of relief.

“Hello, love,” Timothy said grinning, pulling her into a tight hug.

“Hello,” She said quietly, turning and reaching to embrace Nicholas–surprised at her sudden need for physical touch. So out of character for her, and yet desperately needed.

“Alright?” Nicholas muttered quietly into her hair.

Elizabeth nodded, pulling away from him slowly and looking between the two of them. “Where’s Tom?”

Timothy rolled his eyes. “In a right state. Follow us.”

She followed them down the hallway–up an endless amount of stairs. Having to stop and wait as the staircases changed frequently. Likely sensing the chaos of the castle. Until finally they reached the seventh floor.

The room was just as it always was. A replica of the Slytherin common room. Warm and quiet. A welcome refuge from the madness outside.

Riddle stood near the fireplace, the outer robes of his school uniform removed. He was pacing, staring at his shoes against the carpet. Anxiously pinching his bottom lip between slender fingers.

“I can try but he doesn’t listen to me. He’s too caught up in trying to be some…some saviour! He suspects something.” Riddle spoke in frustration, his chest rising and falling quickly. She could see the visible tension of his shoulders.

“Tom…” Elizabeth said quietly, watching as he immediately looked up. It had only been a few hours since she had seen him. Since she had woken up beside him, limbs tangled together in his bed. Feeling him everywhere. Smelling him against the sheets—the jumper she was wrapped in. His warm skin against hers. Tousled morning hair and tired eyes. His thick accent as he mumbled quietly for only her. Morning, little mouse. 

He surged towards her…and she took a step back. Making him stop in his tracks.

“How many more?”

His head tilted slightly, staring down at her in confusion from an arms length away. “What do you mean?”

“How many more will they find?”

Riddle shook his head. “That’s…that’s it. There are no more.”

Despite herself, she believed him.

“They want to close the school.”

“I know.”

He looked desperate. Stressed and disgruntled. And for some reason, it brought her the slightest bit of pleasure to know that on some level he understood that his plan had backfired. Hogwarts was his home as much as it was hers.

Her hands shook. She bit her cheek to contain herself. “What are we going to do?”

He stared at her…his brown eyes unreadable– a look strikingly close to fear.

“I don’t know.” His words were cutting. Helpless.

Elizabeth sighed. And nodded.

The room fell silent. Not an ounce of remorse in the room of seven, a filling the void. 

“The school will close unless the perpetrator is caught.” Rosier spoke quietly from his seat on the couch. “The parents will demand it.”

“It’s the ministry that will demand it,” Malfoy argued. “The board doesn’t want any ties between the school and Grindelwald.” He walked towards them, dark circles under his eyes. As if he hadn’t slept in ages. “Father said the girl’s parents will be here tomorrow morning. The board will meet tonight in order to give them word of their decision.”

“Fuck,” Riddle groaned, pressing his palms to his eyes and dragging them down his face. “Fuck–ok.”

“People are talking. They know it wasn’t a spell. They’re saying it’s a creature.” Elizabeth said, looking to Rosier–and then to Malfoy.

She knew he didn’t like her. She could feel it with every glance. But she needed him to work with her now before Riddle dug them a bigger grave–all of them. Malfoy was smart and level-headed, she could see that. And she needed him in her court.

Malfoy stared back–his grey eyes cold.

She looked at him, doing her best to silently hold up her white flag. To show him she came in peace.

With a stiff nod, Malfoy’s posture loosened slightly. And for the very first time–he looked at her like an equal.

“She’s right. We can use that to our advantage.”

“Don’t bother trying to get a professor to back you up, there’s no time.” Rosier said. “You need to go straight to Dippet.”

Riddle walked toward the leather couch, collapsing down onto it–staring up at the ceiling in thought.

Elizabeth looked towards Malfoy, who sensing her stare looked right back.           

“I could owl my father and ask if they could potentially move the meeting a little later. But it has to be tonight.” Malfoy said quietly, speaking mostly to her.

Riddle gave no response–staring dead ahead at the chandelier above.

“Maybe we could say the owl killed her. Is it too late to run and gouge her eyes out?” Timothy said, fumbling with the case of cigarettes.

“Merlin–Nott, that’s awful.” Corvus cringed, swiping a cigarette from the case.

“Oi that’s the last one you twat!” Timothy mumbled, a cigarette already dangling from his lips.

Corvus shrugged, lighting the cigarette. “What does it matter–looks like we will be going home soon anyways.”

“Shut it–will you? Christ!” Riddle groaned, throwing his arm over his eyes. “I’m trying to think.”

Elizabeth watched as Timothy and Corvus smirked, exchanging a glance as smoke swirled around them.

“Look–just head to bed, all of you.” Riddle continued. “It’s already past curfew and the last thing we need is to be under any more suspicion.”

A few of the Knights nodded in agreement, Rosier already halfway out the door.

“Au revoir, me Lord,” Timothy called out in a singsong imitation of Corvus’s accent. To which he promptly received an elbow to the gut.

One by one they left. And with a final parting glance from Malfoy and a slight nod, he too turned to leave.

Elizabeth sighed, staring at Tom–his arm still covering his face as he sat slumped into the couch. Then she stepped away and turned toward the door.

“Stay.”

His voice was quiet and rough. Not demanding as usual. A plea.

“It’s after curfew,” She whispered

“I know,” he said as he sat up, leaning his elbows against his knees with his head bowed. “I’ll walk you back.”

He stood a moment later, reaching for his cloak and pulling it on. He held the door for her as they left the room of requirement. There were a few students left in the halls. Prefects had been replaced by professors for the night, and they were likely already doing rounds.

“What will you do?” Elizabeth asked quietly, watching him as they walked.

“I have a plan.”

Of course he did. The question was if the plan was good.

She was at a total loss. Feeling particularly helpless–still perplexed at how he had managed to petrify the other muggle-borns students.

And in spite of her heart, afraid that he wasn’t finished.  

“Don’t worry about it. Everything will be fixed by tomorrow.”

“And then what?” Elizabeth huffed in frustration, coming to a stop when they reached the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room. “Everything has changed–”

“Nothing has changed. The plan is still the same,” Riddle said, stepping close to her. Brushing his fingers slowly up her arm. He spoke quieter. “Two weeks from now…you meet me in Little Hangleton.”

She looked down, watching his fingers trace her skin–warmth spreading in his wake. She swallowed thickly shutting her eyes as he stepped closer. Whispering in her ear. “Then we’ll go to Cornwall. Stay by the sea for a few days…just me and you.”

His lips pressed to her jaw and she struggled to control her breathing. Managing only a quick nod.

“I’ll take care of everything.” He whispered, kissing her cheek. “Go to bed.”

Elizabeth nodded, looking up at him as he backed away.

When she didn’t move, he smiled. Reassuring her. “I’ll take care of everything.”

“Ok,” she whispered. Then he turned, walking back towards the stairway down—and she panicked.

“Tom,” She rushed quickly, making him instantly turn around.

“Goodnight,” She said quietly.

And he smiled again. “Goodnight, little mouse.”

She crawled into bed–thankful that the other girls were somehow already asleep.

Curled up beneath a mountain of quilts, hidden behind curtains–she thought of the seaside. And wished she were already there.

Chapter Text

When Elizabeth woke the next morning, her first thought was that waking up alone would never feel quite the same again.

Her second came with a rush of anxiety as she remembered the board of governors meeting from the night before, fearing the conclusion they had come to. She wanted to see Tom as soon as possible.

She dressed quickly, pulling on her uniform skirt–then quickly opting for an oversized, worn grey jumper instead of the rest.

Estella’s bed was empty. Margaret still fast asleep. But Jasmine stood packing.   

“Any word?” Elizabeth asked breathlessly, tugging on her knee-high socks and Mary Jane flats.

Jasmine shook her head. “I haven’t been downstairs yet–and Estella hasn’t come back. But I got an owl from my mum late last night telling me to be on the train home today.”

“Already?” Elizabeth asked, crestfallen.

Jasmine nodded, folding up her nightgown and placing it into her trunk. “I suspect most everyone will have left by tonight. Tomorrow at the latest…but at least we don’t have exams.”

Elizabeth would have gladly taken exams if it meant not having to go home.

She walked slowly from the common room, looking at every face she passed for any sign. While there were tired students dragging trunks, it was no different than the usual chaos of the last day of school. Things seemed…calm.

They were less calm in the great hall. It was loud for breakfast, students running from table to table, gossiping, and chattering from every corner. She scanned the room, looking for anyone she knew. And before she saw any of the knights, her eyes fell on Estella and George.

“Elizabeth!” Estella beamed when she approached their spot at the end of the table. She pulled her in, squeezing her tight. She had received more hugs in the last 24 hours than she had in her entire life. “Have you heard?” Estella asked quickly, her eyes searching Elizabeth’s face. She shook her head quickly, chest tightening with worry.

Then Estella smiled gently. “Everything is fine. The school’s not going to close.”

Elizabeth’s eyes went wide. “Really? Why–they caught them?”

Estella nodded, her smile falling. “He was expelled late last night, just before the board arrived. Olive’s parents came early this morning.”

The noise of the room suddenly became very loud. Overwhelmingly so. It made her ears ring. Her body going numb–as if she had been petrified. Her throat constricted, mouth running dry. Afraid to ask. Needing to know.

“W-Who?” She choked, desperately.

“Rubeus Hagrid.”

For a moment, Elizabeth worried she hadn’t heard her correctly. So caught off guard, she did a double take–trying to make sure she had asked the right question. Suddenly the distant look on Estella’s face, the smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes made sense.

“Rubeus?” Elizabeth asked quietly, feeling as if her body were floating and falling all at once.

Estella nodded. “Apparently he’s been hiding an acromantula in the castle for some time now.”

Elizabeth’s brow furrowed. How…it didn’t even make sense.

“I know,” Estella said quietly, glancing at George across the table. “A…student found it and brought it to Dippet. They gave him an award and everything. For Special Services to the School–or something like that. Tom Riddle.”

Elizabeth wanted to throw herself off a cliff.

Preferably one on the edge of the sea–with crashing waves that she could be consumed by.

George shook his head. “Something doesn’t seem right. I know Hagrid…he’s a little strange but he’s a good bloke. He wouldn’t do something like this.”

Elizabeth could think to respond.

“Not to mention the fact that it was all muggle-born students? Give me a break,” George scoffed, glancing disdainfully at the table of professors eating. “They’re just trying to cover their arses.”

“Elizabeth…” Estella said quietly when Elizabeth remained quiet, putting her hand on hers. “You alright?”

Elizabeth blinked. Hearing her words, but taking to long to comprehend them. She nodded slowly, “Yes, I’m…fine.” She cleared her throat, trying to gain her composure. “When will you two go home?”  

Estella glanced at George. “George’s dad wants him home by tonight. So I think I’ll take the train today. I still have so much to pack.”

“Right.”

“What about you?” Estella asked softly, trying to catch Elizabeth’s eye.

“I’m not sure. There are some things I have to take care of first.”

The table fell silent. No one quite sure what to say. Where they went from here. Elizabeth was too afraid to speak, afraid of what might slip from her without noticing.

George stood abruptly. “I should grab my things from the quidditch rooms. I’ll find you after, alright?”

“Sure,” Estella nodded, smiling as he kissed the top of her head.

Elizabeth managed a smile back, somewhat anxious to be left alone with Estella. She was looking at her too intently. And Elizabeth couldn’t stop fidgeting, fingernails digging into her palms. She inhaled deeply, preparing to make some excuse and leave, and then–

“It’s him…isn’t it?”

Elizabeth’s eyes flashed to her, mouth running dry. She made a noise that must have somewhat resembled a response because Estella went on.

“The boy that you’ve been so secretive about. It's Riddle.”

Involuntarily, her cheeks flushed red.

Estella smiled. A genuine smile this time. Her blue eyes were bright, the apples of her pale cheeks turning pink. “I knew it! At first, I thought it was that Nott boy–when he came and took you from the hall that day. But it didn’t seem right. The more I thought about it, the more obvious it got.”

“What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked nervously, glancing down at her palms.

“For one–you are always looking at him. I can’t believe I never noticed before. Then that first day of O.W.L’s, I saw the way he looked at you.”

Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek, trying so hard not to smile too much.

“Aaaand I may or may not have heard a rumor that he kissed you at Slughorn’s party. A night you very conveniently didn’t come back after.”

“Ok! Ok! I get it.” Elizabeth laughed.

Estella laughed with her, shoving her shoulder against hers. “You could have told me sooner you know.”

“It’s just…complicated.”

“I can imagine. He's...strange that one. ” Estella smiled. “Is he good to you?”

Elizabeth thought over the question. Is he good…to you.

“Yes. He’s good to me.”

Estella beamed. “Then that’s all that matters really. Plus, I dont suppose it hurts that he's terribly handsome." 

Just before Elizabeth left the great hall, the Daily Prophet arrived.

DEATH AT HOGWARTS: ACCIDENT OR ATTACK? INSIDE ALBUS DUMBLEDORES SECRET CONNECTION TO THE BLOOD PURITY MOVEMENT

Bathilda Bagshot

“Oh no…” She whispered, holding the paper between her hands–eyes scanning the article quickly. The most recent picture of Gellert Grindelwald in Rome flashing in the corner. His grey hair slicked to the side, head ducked as he walked into a building–a small group of his followers trailing behind him.

Estella frowned and shook her head, peering over Elizabeth’s shoulder. “That’s what I was worried about.”

Bathilda Bagshot frequently wrote about Dumbledore, her words filled with half-truths and careful slip-ups. Trying to connect anything to Grindelwald was hardly news. But even now that the board of governors had made their decision to allow Hogwarts to remain open, the ministry wouldn’t hesitate to change their mind if something changed…

Besides…that wasn’t what she was worried about.

“Mind if I take this?”

Estella’s brow furrowed, “Sure, I guess. I should probably pack anyways. See you in a bit?”

Elizabeth nodded, eyes already wandering around the hall–falling to the far side.  

“Yes, later.”

The knights sat at their usual spot–the very same place they sat for every meal. Corvus and Rosier with their backs to her, Nicholas just barely visible from the other side. And sat on the table between them, blocking her view of a very particular person—sat Yvonne Parkinson. Her sleek, black bob and long, crossed legs making her recognizable even with her head turned.  

Elizabeth watched as Yvonne stretched out her hand, placing it on Tom’s shoulder as she threw her head back in laughter. And her magic surged. Tingling at her fingers…racing down her spine.

Every step she took across the room was cautious. Assessing the situation with guarded annoyance. Who did he think he was? Going around her back like this. Betraying her friend. Then sitting here, lounging like the heir of Slytherin.

Yvonne laughed again, and this time she could hear it. “I can’t even imagine Professor Dumbledore’s face! That’s class.” She giggled, her posh accent high and sharp. “That was so good of you, Tommy–really.”

Elizabeth cringed at the nickname. No one called him that.

“Dippet’s a tosser really, but he’s better than Dumbledore. Be a shame when he kicks it.” Timothy said, leaning against the wall beside the table–his eyes flicking to hers as she approached. “Hello, Dove!”

Elizabeth gave a tight smile, looking towards Riddle from the corner of her eye warily. “Hi.”

Riddle looked far too smug. His shiny new trophy sat on the table–on clear display. He grinned when he saw her, sitting up straight.

Yvonne looked at her through dark, painted lashes. Flicking her shiny bob and stretching out her hand. Slender, pale fingers and dark varnish.

“I don’t believe we’ve met. Yvonne Parkinson–and you are?”

Elizabeth eyed the girl's hand, mulling over her options. Then she straightened her shoulders, tilting her nose into the air. And took her hand. “Elizabeth Warren. Pleasure.”

For most pleasant people, her tone of voice and air of attitude would have been off-putting. But Yvonne was a Parkinson. She wasn’t raised by pleasant people. The rules were different.

Something akin to satisfaction flashed in Yvonne's eyes.

Elizabeth had just passed a very important test with flying marks.

“Horace told me to talk to you last night–but you were gone so soon. I saw your dress though. Just incredible.” Yvonne chimed, looking at her like an approving mother.

“That’s kind of you. I’m sorry we missed you.”  

“Oh, it’s no fuss. But do tell me–how did they get the sparkles to move like that? I have a man in Paris who makes all my dresses–Francois Lambert. I’m sure you’ve heard of him. Sounds just to your tastes…if you’re not busy this summer perhaps I could introduce you. He’s very strict about only having one client for the season, but he’s an old family friend. I’m sure he would be happy to make an exception for me. Besides, he gets real chuffed about dressing pretty people..if you know what I mean.” She spoke so quickly and in so much detail Elizabeth could hardly keep up. “Unless of course…you’ve already signed with another designer for the season?” Yvonne stared at her intensely, green eyes sparkling.

Riddle spoke before she could even open her mouth.

“A designer in Romania has already requested her.” He droned. “But…you could send me his portfolio and perhaps we could change that.”

Elizabeth frowned, staring at him in confusion. What on–Romania?

Yvonne gasped so loudly that Elizabeth feared she had missed something horrible happening. 

“Surely you don’t mean Anja Bogdanov?” Yvonne hissed. “She hasn’t received my owls for almost ten years now! She’s supposed to be in retirement!! What do you mean requested?”

Riddle shrugged, “Old family friend. There are exceptions.”

Yvonne scoffed, turning back to Elizabeth. “I feel terribly embarrassed about sending you Francois' portfolio now–but I’ll do it anyway. And either way, the invite to Paris still stands. We could go for cappuccinos and a massage.” She hopped off the table, straightening her crisp grey dress. “Mummy and daddy want me there by tonight and I haven’t packed a thing. I should go. But I’ll owl you alright?”

Elizabeth managed a nod, trying not to act too caught off guard when Yvonne held her by both shoulders and kissed her quickly on each side of her face.

“Later, fellas,” Yvonne called over her shoulder, bouncing through the hall—her kitten heels bouncing with every step.

With Yvonne gone, a heavy silence fell over their little corner of the room. The Knights sat quietly, hunched over their plates of full English breakfasts—likely their last meal before the journey home.

“Tom…” Elizabeth began, eyeing him in annoyance. “A word, please?”

Timothy snickered, pushing off the wall and slapping Riddle on the back. “Go on, Tommy. I’m gonna go help Yvonne pack.”  He gave Elizabeth a wink before trailing off in Yvonne’s direction.

Riddle stood with surprisingly little delay—pointing to the trophy on the table gravely. “Don’t touch that.”

He trailed after her, following her out of the great hall and down the corridor. And though his presence was dark and foreboding as ever behind her…it was satisfying to feel like she was the one in charge for once. Turning quickly, she led him into an abandoned classroom. He closed the door behind them–reaching for her. But she just kept walking.

Riddle scoffed. “What’s the matter?”

Pulling the chair from a desk at the back of the room, she spun it around and placed it back on the ground loudly. “Sit.”

He eyed her…and then the chair.

“Don’t tell me you’re upset that I fixed the situation–”

“Sit.”

Jaw flexing, he swallowed thickly and rolled his eyes. Three long strides forward and he plopped down into the chair. Elizabeth walked around to stand in front of him, crossing her arms over her chest and staring down at him. Much to her dismay, his eyes scanned her body. Clicking his tongue against his cheek and smirking suggestively.

“Stop that.” Elizabeth snapped.

“Stop what?” He asked, tilting his head innocently–his gaze flashing the tops of her pale thighs just barely visible below the hem of her skirt.

“Stop being distracting and tell me why you did it–why would you do that to poor Rubeus?!” Elizabeth cried, shaking her head in dismay.

“That brainless oaf?!”

“He’s not brainless!” Elizabeth said, kicking Riddle in the shins albeit lightly. “He’s incredibly kind and sweet, and–and he has it bad enough already. You had no right.”

“He shouldn’t have had the thing in the school anyways, it’s not allowed. Even if I hadn’t said anything he would have been expelled eventually.” Riddle said casually, reaching out to touch his fingers behind her knees. She ignored his hands, continuing to glare down at him.

Riddle sighed, “Look, Dumbledore’s got a real soft spot for the thing. He’ll be well taken care of I’m sure.”

He was probably right. Based on the story he had suggested, the whole thing had been an unfortunate accident. Though harsh, Hagrid’s punishment would not be severe. And after all, he was just a boy. They couldn’t possibly send him off on his own with nothing. As strange and overbearing as Professor Dumbledore seemed, he wasn’t cruel.

Riddle’s cold fingers traced the backside of her thighs. Ever so slowly pulling her closer until she was standing between his spread legs, fingers inching higher and higher.

“Besides…” He said lowly, staring up at her with dark, hooded eyes. “I told you I would fix it didn’t I?”

Elizabeth refused to look at him. Knowing full well that if she looked down at him below her with those eyes she would break.

“Elizabeth…”

The rough, low groan of her name on his lips sent an ache through her.

“Tom–” She managed before being cut off by a sharp gasp when his fingers trailed the underside of her arse.

“Yes?” He whispered, smirking up at her as he watched her every reaction.

Her hands found his wrists, holding them firmly still and staring at him. “I’m still mad at you.”

Something flashed in his eyes and made his pupils dilate. His fingers dug deeper into her backside, involuntarily pulling her closer.

“Good.” The smirk remained as he stared up at her. “I like it when you look at me like that.” He pulled at her thigh, lifting her leg and forcing it over his–and then the other until she was sat on his lap. Elizabeth gripped his shoulders, trying to balance herself.

“Like what?”

His eyes trailed darkly over her figure. Her skirt bunched at her hips. Her bare thighs straddling him. She watched his jaw tighten as he gnawed on the inside of his cheek, breathing heavily as his eyes moved back to her face. “Like you hate me.”

Her brow pinched, staring down at him in confusion.

“Do you?” He asked, his hands brushing ever so slowly up her thighs–fingers brushing the hem of her skirt.

He’d framed her friend–an innocent boy. He was cocky and self-absorbed, far too sure of himself. He was power-hungry and manipulative, possessive and prejudiced. A creature of mass destruction beckoned to his call. The very blood that ran through his veins was the very same that had fuelled generations of wickedness. He had killed. And without a doubt, she knew he would kill again.

But was that hate she felt burning inside of her? The way her magic burst at the feel of his hands on her. The mental chart she had created of every shade and hue of his eyes. Lying awake in bed, searching for him within the depths of her mind. Her desperate need to be close to him, the growing fear that soon they would be separated. Did she hate him?

“No.” Her voice barely a whisper. “But maybe I should.”

Cold fingers against her neck, pressing against her veins and pulling her lips to his with such need. Tom kissed her like he was claiming her.

“You’re mine,” He mumbled, words against her lips. She drank them in, barely managing a nod–a whimper in response as she struggled to kiss him back. A sudden sense of panic washed over her. Like water filling around her quickly, gasping for her very last breath of air. She shifted–moving closer to him as if she were trying to fuse her skin to his. As if it would make it impossible to be separated from him.

She would go back to Amersham. To that little house and it would be hell.

“Can’t I come with you?” She asked panting, pulling apart just barely so she could look at him with pleading eyes. His teeth tugged at his swollen bottom lip. Hair tousled and cheeks ruddy.

“There are things I need to take care of first.”

“I could go with you,” She said softly. Please understand, she begged silently, I would follow you anywhere.

But he only shook his head.

“It’s only a few days,” He said quietly, his smirk returning as he stared at her parted lips. “Need me that bad, little mouse?”

She didn’t bother answering. He already knew.

‡‡‡

At 11 o’clock, she walked with Estella and George to Hogsmeade. George droned about needing to get snacks from Honeydukes before they left because it was far more expensive on the train–and they didn’t have chocolate cauldrons. Elizabeth lugged her trunk and case barely even listening. Her heart had felt permanently clenched since she’d said goodbye to Tom. As if it were being squeezed in two. Sometimes, it would lurch painfully.

In those moments, she seriously wondered if she might die.

At 12 noon sharp the train left Hogsmeade station–and what followed seemed like the fastest nine hours she had ever lived through. Estella and George both slept. George lying with his head in Estella’s lap, his large keeper’s body hunched uncomfortably on the small bench.

But Elizabeth didn’t sleep at all, replaying her very last moments with Tom. Standing in a quiet, shaded corner of the courtyard–towering above her. His lips pressed softly to her cheek, fingers brushing against her sides. Promises that only she could hear whispered in her ear. Feeling keenly like a soldier being sent off to battle.

She pressed her forehead to the window panes, watching the Scottish highlands disappear. Craggy mountains and clouded skies slowly faded into little villages.

They arrived at Kings Cross Station just after nightfall. George’s father was waiting for him. He kissed Estella goodbye and waved to Elizabeth. A moment later, Estella’s house-elf Snips appeared. Estella beamed at the sight of the old elf who had cared for her since birth.

“Think you’ll be alright?” The girl asked before turning to leave, pulling Elizabeth into a tight hug.

“Of course,” Elizabeth said, managing a tight smile.

Estella smiled back, squeezing her arms as she pulled away. “I’ll write soon.” Then she took the little house-elf’s hand and disappeared.

Elizabeth ducked through the platform barrier–and was suddenly struck by the reminder that there was a war on. Soldiers in uniforms, many of whom were wounded, walked through the station. Hugging their loved ones in reunion. Kissing their wives and mothers goodbye.

Sullen children and tired mothers. Weary citizens of a war-torn London.

She watched them all as she walked through the station, feeling cold and disoriented. The way she always felt when she was pulled from the magical world and into the life she had lived for her first 11 years. Like being pulled from a dream.

Only it wasn’t a dream.

Elizabeth tugged her coat tighter around her, feeling the edges of her wand press into her. And boarded the next train to Amersham.

Chapter Text

The next 12 days felt like an eternity.

Trapped somewhere between two worlds, struggling to ground herself in either. And as such...existing nowhere at all, floating in somewhere in the cavities of existence. Where nothing feels real, and yet one must go on living. 

Her very first morning at home, she woke up ill. Emptying her stomach of the little she had eaten the day before. Her body shook uncontrollably, and for days she could hardly keep anything of substance down.

Far more strange were the bursts of accidental magic. As if she were a child. Only this time she was much better at hiding them. Quickly mending teacups before they were seen, wiping up the little piles of snow that accumulated by her bed.

The churning of her stomach and inability to control her magic made her even more anxious than usual. Because things at home were different.  

Her mother had acted surprised when she arrived that night, as if Elizabeth hadn’t written to her that morning to tell them she would be on her way home. Her mother had hesitantly embraced her, a tight smile as she looked her over.

“Myrtle, darling. You look…well.” Her mother’s sad, grey eyes just as she remembered. Her dirty blonde hair was longer than it had been at Christams. “I didn’t realize you would be home so early.” 

After awkwardly searching the room for her father, her mother informed her that he had been conscripted.

Elizabeth stared back at her in shock. “When?”

“February.”

February...February. It was mid-June. 

She hadn’t written. Now that Elizabeth thought about it, she realized that her mother had never written back to any of her letters at all. Which wasn’t terribly strange considering her mother's fear of the owl postal system, but even more striking considering her father had been mobilized for nearly 5 months–and she never thought to inform her.

It stung...deep and burning.

As she fell asleep that very first night, she thought of her father. And wondered if he were alive. Imagined that he wasn't, noticing the way it would make her feel. Unsurprised–albeit off-put–by her emotional distance from her circumstance. How little it would matter, how nothing would change... Nevertheless, she wondered if she would be able to tell.

Could magical beings sense that sort of thing? If she put in the right effort, could she search the vast expanse of the world for her own flesh and blood–and determine if he were alive? She tried for a moment...but found nothing. And it relieved her...to not have to carry the weight of knowing. To exist with her mother in the bliss of naivety. 

With her father gone, they had found a vague semblence of relief. The house was much quieter. Her mother visibly less on edge. Together, they fell into an almost peaceful coexistence. Happy to avoid one another almost entirely. 

If her mother noticed she was sick, she said nothing.

Elizabeth spent her days in relative solitude, hidden away in her little bedroom. Her small collection of books she happily reread. Her worn and weathered copy of Wuthering Heights, the spine cracked in a hundred places. It passed the time while she waited for letters–from anyone. Estella wrote to her frequently, Jasmine and Margaret both once.

Tom had written just twice.

His letters were vague and evasive, refusing to tell her anything about the things he had to take care of before she could be with him. But just the shape of his handwriting–the paper she knew he had touched. She treasured them both. Folded carefully and carried with her at all times. Blushing wildly every time she thought of his words...

“Who is it that you are going to visit?” Her mother asked one afternoon, as Elizabeth made tea–on the stove with a kettle, the muggle way. It was one week before she would leave.

“Uhh...” Elizabeth hesitated. “A friend from school.”

Her mother nodded. “And, for how long?”

“I’m not sure... They’ve invited me for the rest of the summer.”

Her mother, somehow frailer than usual struggled to hold the wicker basket of laundry and set it down on the table–wiping her shaky hands on her apron.

“Yes, that’s best. I’ve decided I’m going to stay with my mother for a while. On the farm.”

“Oh.”

She moved the kettle from the flame before it could whistle and frighten her mother. “Why?”

“With your father gone I…I just can’t manage. You understand.”

“But what will you do with the house?”

“Mrs. Devon next door has offered to find a tenant for a while.” She said, carefully avoiding Elizabeth’s eye. “Of course–that means you’ll need to make sure your things are all packed–take anything you want with you. The farm doesn’t have much room.”

"It's only temporary, most likely. Until the war is over." 

Most likely...when the war was over. 

Elizabeth understood her clearly.

She left her tea to go cold.

‡‡‡

Dearest Elizabeth,

            How are you? I hope my letter finds you in much better spirits than when we parted. The weather has been dreadful in Devon. The gnomes in our garden have been just terrible–father has us out helping the house-elves practically every day. They like worms, and with all this rain…I’m sure you understand.

            I heard from George just yesterday. I miss him so much, it makes me feel pathetic. He’s all I talk about and it’s starting to annoy my little brother. Which I suppose is valid. He starts at Hogwarts this fall. I’m sure you will love him but I think it will be a nightmare. Any who–George said that his father told him that Dippet asked Dumbledore to speak with the board and reassure them there’s no connection between Grindelwald and the attacks. Things just keep getting stranger.

            Write back soon, I miss you terribly.

            All my heart,

                        Stella

~

Dear Estella,

            I’m so glad you wrote me. I’m doing a bit better, though I think all the travel has me under the weather. I’m sorry about the gnomes, that sounds awful. I hear they bite. For your sake, I hope that’s not true. As for your little brother, I can’t wait to meet him! I can only imagine he’s just as blonde as you.

            Strange that Dippet would ask him to do that…even if they are just rumors, they are putting a lot of energy into this. It makes me wonder about Dumbledore’s connection to Grindelwald. Surely there is a kernel of truth in there somewhere…

            Things are so boring here. I wish I had more to tell you but I don’t.

            Love,

                        Elizabeth

            P.S – You aren’t planning on participating in Season this year, are you?

~

Darling Dearest Elizabeth,

            Gnomes most certainly do bite! I’ve got bandages all over my fingers as I write. But I won’t complain too much since you are sick, which sounds much worse.

             I wonder the same about Dumbledore and Grindelwald. I heard they were friends as children, which is strange to think about. They can’t still be friends, can they?

            Don’t apologize about being boring! Things are rather dull here as well. But I got to visit George and his family yesterday. Elizabeth, you wouldn’t believe how nerve-wracking it was. I was so nervous I could hardly eat the wonderful squash soup they made. I think I offended their house-elf. George told me it went well and they loved me but still...

            And no, I most certainly AM NOT participating in season. It’s dreadful, one time was enough for me. Plus, mother is nervous that it will get too political this year. Lot’s of the pureblood families have made connections with Grindelwald.

            Sincerely,

                        Stella

            P.S – I’ve attached a box of lemon drops because I know you adore them

~

Elizabeth,

            I miss you. Tell me you are thinking of me as much as I am thinking of you. Sometimes I think I see you. It never is– of course, and I’m glad for that. I’m glad you are bored and alone in your little village. Is that terrible of me? Yes. I don’t care.

            I have dreams that you are ill. Which is strange because I never dream.

            Either way, I don’t like being away from you. I keep picturing you by the sea. I can’t believe you’ve never been. It almost makes me laugh when I think of how fitting a place it is for you. Perhaps I won’t be able to convince you to come back to school.

            I used to go there every year as a child. It’s quiet–so quiet it sometimes feels like you’ve reached the farthest edges of the world. I know you like the quiet.

            T.R

                        Cambridge Station. 20 June. 11am. Don’t be late.

~

Dear Tom,

            It is most terrible of you to picture me here so gladly. I’m miserable. And perhaps your dreams aren’t so strange after all because I’ve been ill ever since I left you. I fear if I am parted from you a moment longer–I will die. What have you done to me?

            What took you so long to write me? I’ve been worried. I don’t like being away from you. I will so gladly go to the farthest edges of the world with you. Especially if it is quiet.

Miserably alone,

Elizabeth

            P.S– I’ll be early.

            P.P.S– What on earth did you mean about that designer in Romania? How would we be invited to Season?  

~

Dear Estella,

            You darling, magical girl! Whatever would I do without you. You wouldn’t believe how much better a lemon drop makes me feel.

            Perhaps it’s more complicated than that when it comes to Dumbledore and Grindelwald. If they were once as close as people say they were…I can’t imagine the line between them is very clear these days.

            As for George’s family, how could they not adore you?! Estella you worry far too much. And don’t worry about the house elf. Remember in first year when I told one they didn’t need to worry about making my bed every day? You would have thought I ridiculed them. They fret about things like that because it’s all they know. Don’t take it too personally.

            What’s this about certain pureblood families joining Grindelwald? Tell me more if you can. I feel so disconnected from the magical world.

            Sincerely yours,

            Elizabeth

                        P.S–sorry about your fingers

~

Elizabeth,

            I can’t bare the thought of you unwell. But I fear you may not be too far off in feeling that it worsens the longer we are apart. I have theories, but I’ll tell you them later.

            And you aren’t dying, I won’t allow it.

            Instead, I’ll tell you that I’ve been distracting myself from thinking of you wilting away in Amersham by concocting images of you. Picturing you any way I want. Mostly I want you on the edge of the world with me–naked in my bed. Where only I can see you. I promise you it will be so quiet only I will be able to hear those little sounds you make for me.

            Don’t worry about Season–you’ve already been invited and accepted the invitation. Anja Bogdanov is an old friend of the Gaunt’s. She owes me a favor. And she’s anxious to meet you.   

            T.R.

                        Cambridge Station. 20 June. As early as you like.

‡‡‡

In her last few days, she slowly packed what little she owned.

Shrinking everything down to fit in her trunk. Every clothing item, her small stack of books–minus her copy of Wuthering Heights which was carefully stuffed into her leather bag. A few photographs. Frozen moments captured in black and white. Her mother, sullen and tired, holding her as a newborn child. Her 5-year-old self, standing compliant and reserved in front of the fountain in Trafalgar Square on her first trip to London. Two Christmas’s ago, sat on the floor near her father’s armchair–his large hand resting on her head. Every one of them felt like ghosts, to bring them was to subject herself to a life of haunting. But she did it anyway, sliding them between two books and closing her trunk.

Beneath her small bed was a box with a little metal lock. It had been given to her by her grandmother when she was 7, pulled from her dingy attic and placed in Elizabeth's tiny hands.

It had no key, presumably long lost. Her whole life, she had hidden everything meaningful in its confines. Trinkets collected over the years. Things that had made some impression on the small girl. A postcard from the National Gallery–a rendition of The Execution of Lady Jane Grey on the front. A small bundle of gypsophilia flowers pressed between newspaper. Her Hogwarts letter–the ticket from her very first trip on the Hogwarts Express. And beneath it all was every bit of money she had earned or been given for nearly ten years–muggle or wizarding coin alike. She took it out, carefully counting–and then counting again before slipping it into an envelope and putting it in her bag.

Day by day, the silent cohabitation with her mother grew unbearable. She wanted to scream. Beg her to explain. If she didn’t want her anymore, could she not say it? To live, never having a clear answer, always wondering, was so much worse. Did she not deserve a soft end to a violent childhood?

Though she would deny it, an apology rested on her own lips almost constantly. Feeling as if she might burst at any moment. To say sorry for coming into this world–for being the only child her fragile fertility produced. For trapping her in this small life.

But she didn’t. Not for days.

Days spent walking through the small village in the late hours of the evening–just as the sun was setting. There was hardly anyone out. Sitting under trees or tucked away in her bedroom rereading his words. Words she couldn’t bring herself to respond to.

The walking tired her frail body, but the air gave her life.

On the morning of the 20^th of June, she woke early.

The sun was out, but it was cloudy–making it almost feel like late evening. She dressed in a simple, dusty rose dress with buttons at the collar. She even tried her luck at styling her hair, winding it into curls with her wand. Tan travel coat and matching hat, her leather bag, and her trunk. The contents of her entire life...reduced to these few things. 

She crept quietly into her parent’s small bedroom. Her mother sleeping on her side, a hand tucked under her cheek.

Even in sleep, she seemed a stranger to peace.

And in that moment, Elizabeth was struck by a surprising sense of clarity.

The only world her mother had known was very small. Born on a farm in a small village only miles away. Married young to the only man she ever hoped for–an angry, spiteful man. A man not unlike her own father. And to top it off, a child from a foreign world–a changeling of a girl. Hers was not a world of magic...and it was a world she very well might have only known as well had she not been dealt a very lucky draw.

And in that moment Elizabeth decided that she would not apologize. But she would also never harbor an ounce of disdain within her heart for her mother. Instead, she would try to live a life her mother never could have dreamed of. 

“Mum,” She whispered, taking a careful step forward. “…Mum.”

She stretched out her hand to touch her, but then her mother startled awake–staring up at her with confused, tired eyes. 

“I’ve got to go now, mum”

Her mother's eyes fell closed again and she hummed. “Alright.”

She fell silent again, and as Elizabeth stood staring at her, she thought she might have fallen back to sleep. After a moment of hesitation, taking in her mother’s sleeping form one last time, she turned to leave. But just as she reached the open doorway, her mother’s sleep lace voice spoke quietly again.

“Myrtle…”

Elizabeth turned to look at her.

“Be good.”

Compressed and stuttered, Elizabeth inhaled deeply. Nodding, even though she knew her mother couldn’t see her.

“Alright, mum.”

They had loved as best they knew how.

Pale, pearling sunlight had just barely begun to peak through the early morning clouds when she reached Kings Cross Station. Busy with the usual bustle of people quietly going about their lives. She liked to wonder about them–what their lives were like, where they were going. Really, what she liked to imagine was that they lived very simply. Had simple worries, and simple pleasures.

It was easier then...to imagine that such a life was not too far out of reach for her own hands. 

The train ride from London to Cambridge was an hour long.

Her copy of Wuthering Heights sat dutifully on her lap, pulled from her bag with every intention of reading it to pass the time. But it was impossible to focus with her mind buzzing–already envisioning what it would feel like to see him. To touch him. She was still weary...sullen and grey. But she itched with anticipation, a newfound burst of energy. Watching the city pass by from the train window felt like standing in the rain–cleansing her, ending a chapter. Stepping boldly into the next.

When they reached Cambridge Station, she stood so quickly she nearly fell over. A man in uniform–a soldier, handsome and not too much older than her, caught her hand. Then he offered to help her with her trunk. If she had not been so preoccupied, it would have flustered her beyond measure. Instead, she stepped off the train after him and thanked him.

It was nearly 10 am.

And standing alone on the platform as her train pulled out, scanning every face that passed by, there was a moment where she worried that, perhaps, she had arrived a bit too early. That maybe, he hadn’t really thought she would take his letter to heart.

But then there he was.

Stood a bit away in a grey suit and long travel coat, looking at her like she was the answer to everything. Like he had been searching the far corners of the earth for her. He looked at her with pure relief. And she felt it. Whatever particles of the earth fuelled her magic, each one of them spurring back to life.

A whisper of his name on her lips, and suddenly they were walking towards each other in determination–colliding somewhere in the middle. His arms tight around her waist, lifting her off of the ground. She breathed him in–musky and clean. Bergamot and the faintest hint of tobacco. Warm and familiar.

When at last her feet touched the ground and he let them pull apart just slightly, she held his jaw between her hands to look at him. To just look. Eyes flicking across his face–as if she were checking he was all there. Then perhaps for the first time since they parted, she smiled up at him. And rather than smiling back, he put his lips to hers and kissed her.

He tasted just the same.

“Look at you,” He muttered when he finally stepped away–looking at her with clarity for the first time, worry filling his eyes. “I didn’t...you were highly evasive about how unwell you’ve been.”

She brushed off his words, shaking her head and smiling up at him again. So happy to simply breathe the same air again. “It’s nothing really–I’m fine now. Much better.”

“Elizabeth, you look–” Tom swallowed thickly, shaking his head–a mere tick. “It doesn’t matter now, you’re with me.” He lead her back to her trunk, which had been so easily forgotten.

“Ready?” He asked, holding out her arm for him to take.

“To go where?” She looped her arm with his.

He glanced around them, eyes scanning the nearly empty platform. “Take the handle on your trunk.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

She did–and the very second that her fingers touched the leather-covered metal, she experienced what felt like her insides being turned out, and then back in again.

The world spun around her, flashing and whirling in a hazy mirage of color until she was on the ground again–though not firmly. She swayed on her feet, nauseous and unable to see straight, immediately slumping against Tom’s tall, firm form. Through blurred vision, she could just barely tell that the station platform had disappeared entirely in mere seconds.

“What in God’s name–” She muttered, then quickly stopping to swallow thickly, pressing her forehead to his arm in an attempt to contain the nausea.

Tom stared down at her with a small smile, “Apparition. It’s alright, most people feel sick the first few times.”

Elizabeth gripped his arm, breathing deeply as she pushed herself to stand straight. Apparition?

“But that’s not till–”

“I taught myself.”

“Of course you did.”

He shrugged, looking out over the horizon line–a rather barren one at that. “It comes in handy.”

Green and lush, two steep hills rising against the clouded sky. There were a few small cottages, a graveyard, and a church–all generously spread out from one another within the valley. And separate from them all, standing grand in the distance, was a handsome manor house. They were in the countryside.

“Where are we?” Elizabeth asked, glancing up at Tom in confusion.

Not looking at her, he stared off into the distance. More tense than he had been only moments before.  

“Little Hangelton.”

They walked down into the village–if one could even call it that, the few scattered homes occupying the valley.

A woman stood in the garden of a cottage, hanging soft linens on a clothesline to dry. Tom watched her carefully as they approached.

“Stay here,” He whispered softly, hand outstretched in front of her to force her to pauce. Glancing at her reassuringly.

Elizabeth watched as he approached the woman, noticing the way her brow furrowed and eyes widened just slightly. She couldn’t hear what Tom said to her, just able to make out her responses. “Are you sure love?” “–yes, right place, just through there I believe–” “–not seen ‘em in years–” “–not polite people!”

Tom nodded, thanking the woman before turning away. She watched him, glancing at Elizabeth in curiosity. Without thinking, Elizabeth smiled back, trying to reassure her–of what, she wasn’t sure.

Rather than walk further into the village, he lead them into the forest. And only when the trees grew dense, the floor thick with fallen leaves and dirt, did she at last question him.

“Tom, are you sure you know where–”

“Yes.”

His words were firm and final. The power his eyes held…as if her magic were so content it seemed to whisper to her. It’s fine.

He would never hurt you.  

She nodded. And carried on. Stepping where he stepped, tracing his footsteps as they trailed further, and further into the woods.

When they neared the spot in question, she could feel it before she could see it.

Darkness, heavy and congealed.

As if it were dripping from the oak trees, permeating the air they breathed. A familiar nausea moved through her, a sensation she had experienced only once before. Her inhales grew harsh and stuttered, struggling to take in the thick air.

Tom turned and stopped dead in his tracks, looking at her with concern. “What is it?” He asked, stepping towards her and reaching out his hand.

Elizabeth shook her head, swallowing thickly and taking his hand. “It’s nothing, I’m sure.”

He seemed fine, totally unbothered by the change, if there even had been a change at all.

She was glad to hold his hand in hers, to be grounded to something–especially when at last it came into view. A small cottage, a shack, really. Small and hidden, as if being swallowed up by the surrounding trees. Vines snaking in every direction to hold it back.

And with every step closer they took–Elizabeth came to the terrifying realization that this was their destination. This small shack, molding at the edges–coated in dark magic. A door, wooden and cracking–held by rusting hinges. Tom stopped, gripping her hand tightly. One step forward, and one step to the side–blocking her from the door entirely as he stood in front of her. His head turned to her, but his eyes remained cast somewhere far off.

“Do you have your wand?”

Elizabeth frowned, feeling the smooth ridges of dark vine beneath her fingertips. “Of course.”

His eyes, at last, shifted to her. Dark and determined. “You’ll stay by my side. You’ll listen to every word I say. Do you understand?”

She could hardly understand his words enough to respond. He looked down at her, hidden behind him, so intently.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. They won’t touch you.”

And then he knocked, a single wrap on the dying wood.

Shielded behind Tom, much too broad or tall for his age, she could hardly see the man that peered out from a small opening in the door. But she heard him clearly. His voice shaky and wet, as if his words were covered in thick grime. He sounded ill.

He snarled. “What do you want? Who is it?” 

She waited for Tom to respond but he never did. Leaning to the side, she peered around his shoulder–startled at the pale, glossy eye that stared through the crack of the door. The eye, staring up at Tom, widened. And from inside, he said something inaudible.

Then the door began to shut.

Tom’s hand slapped against the wood firmly, long, pale fingers splayed to hold it open. And with a slight shove, the rusting hinges creaked...and it swung open. 

A small man coward in the doorway.

Haggard and slumped against a cane, he peered at Tom through long, dirty hair. So oily it looked wet in places, dry and splitting in others. He was dressed in what may have once been a nice suit–but it hung from him now as if it hadn’t been washed in ages. The edges of his trousers hung tattered above bare, grimy feet.

“What do you want?” The man seethed, trembling as he leaned, against his cane. Simultaneously cowering in fear, and standing guard at the entrance to the shack.

Tom responded in a familiar hissing language, the guttural noises soft on his lips. The man’s eyes widened, his posture immediately relaxing. Still, he looked Tom over warily–then much to her surprise, responded in the very same language. It sounded different coming from him…much less alluring than it did from Tom. Much more snakelike. 

The man’s eyes fell to her, and her entire body reviled under his gaze. He spoke again, hissing and gesturing in her direction. Tom stiffened, his hold on her hand tightening–stepping to the side to shield her from his view. In doing so, shielding the man from her view as well.

Tom spoke again, firmer this time. Then–after a moment of hesitation–the man took a careful step backward...further into the shack. Opening space for them to follow. And much to Elizabeth’s displeasure, Tom stepped across the threshold.

She tugged on his hand, gripping him so tightly he was held in place.

“Tom," She hurried. "Who is that? I’m not going in there–”

“It’s alright,” He whispered. Taking her trunk from her and setting it to the side along with his before casting a glamour. “It will only be a moment. I’ve got you.”

On blind faith–faith in him alone–she followed him in. Barely jumping as the door shut behind them.

It was dark and damp, and thankfully, they didn’t go very far. She listened, carefully tucked against his side as they spoke in words she couldn’t understand in the slightest. The only inkling of translation she had to cling to being the slight changes in Tom’s demeanor. The tensing of his shoulders...a tick of his jaw. His tone of voice. The color of his eyes.

She examined the small space. The scattered, dirty dishes stacked along the countertops. Whoever it was that lived here, they lived in squalor. Hardly any natural light penetrated the shack, windows shrouded by overgrown foliage–and grime. Instead, flickering candlelight cast a little light onto the room, crawling shadows filling the corners, shifting with every movement. It had a haunting, unearthly nature. So shrouded in dark magic the air was hard to breathe.

Question after question. Every one of them answered by the man she had yet to put a name to. Occasionally his glassy eyes would shift to her, carefully peering around Tom to look her over with lingering eyes– before quickly looking back to Tom. Tom–who grew increasingly agitated as the conversation waned on. His words, acidic and bitter. Veins protruding from his neck and temples. Watching him carefully, her hand trailed up his back…fingertips brushing against the back of his neck. As if she were trying to soothe him…

Then the man said something, his voice moving with a slight influx at the end as if he were asking a question. And before he could even finish Tom’s wand arm stretched out with a snap–the pale yew aimed right at the man’s chest.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Sharp words cutting through the air, the man’s large–withering body froze. And before she had time to question him, to wonder what was happening–Tom lunged forward and took the wand clutched between the man’s thick, immobilized fingers still locked around it.

Then her hand was in his, dragging her through the door. Through the forested pathway, the damp soil and thick air. Struggling to keep up with him, stumbling over her feet with nearly every stop. Panic and confusion choked back any question she could have thought to ask. His hand suddenly releasing hers came with a cold rush of air, enveloping her like a harsh blow, forcing her to take a step back to regain her balance.

And Tom stopped. A mere foot away from him, she watched the heavy rise and fall of his shoulders–feeling the magic bloom and fall within him…within her. A frightening, intoxicating sensation.

Slowly, he turned to look at her. His eyes were startlingly red–bloodshot and burning, a darker shade of black than she had ever seen before. A look of pure rage. It made the energy she felt even more confusing. Shame. Hallow and infectious…as if he were apologizing for what he was about to do.

His words were thick, bitter, and choked.

“You’ll stay here.”

His right hand flexed and tightened around both wands, his shoulder rolling, neck jerking. Like a creature in transformation. A deep sting bloomed against her palms, nails biting into her skin. She shook her head, swallowing thickly to push away the crawling panic.

You will not leave me here.

You will not.

Though unspoken, she could sense her words in his mind. The look of hesitation in his eyes–considering. And then a reluctant nod.

Never before had she taken his hand with such fervor, gripping it in hers as if he might somehow turn to mist–floating away without her to anchor him to earth.

No sooner than her skin touched his, she felt that familiar tug at her stomach. The world whipped past, vision distorted–until the handsome manor house she had seen from a distance stood towering above her.

Apparition was much more barrable this time, a slight churn of her stomach and an ache in her head. Nothing compared to the first time.

They stood for a moment, hand in hand staring at the manor.

“Who was that?”

A breath later, “Morfin Gaunt.”

Elizabeth blinked, turning to look at him.

Gaunt.

Perhaps an uncle, a cousin maybe. The semantics hardly mattered. It was strange to think of the two being even distantly related. Tom Riddle–his clean skin, pressed suits, and painstaking air of refinement. And...Morfin Gaunt, curdling as they spoke in his little shack.

“What did he say to you?” She asked carefully.

“The truth.”

They walked the cobblestone steps leading to the front door, together. Then Tom brought his knuckles to the sleek wood. Knock. Knock…Knock.

An older woman, her white hair curled and pinned to perfection. Silky blouse and a dark blue skirt that went to her feet. Her dark eyes bloomed in confusion as she stared at Tom, too distracted to even say hello…She took a startled step back, one hand still on the door.

“I’m sorry to intrude, Madame.” Tom began, his posture pin straight. His accent perfectly posh…the way he spoke to teachers. Charming and polite.

“I’m looking for a Mister Thomas Riddle.”

The words seemed to startle her as much as they did the old woman.

Her response was delayed, stuttering over her words as her eyes fluttered in confusion.

“T-Thomas?” Her voice was light and airy. Elizabeth thought it reminded her of the Queen, the way she spoke in those radio broadcasts. The way only people of wealth spoke.

“Yes…Does he live here?” Tom said, smiling politely–as if his very presence had not shaken this woman to the core.

“Well–well, yes. He’s just in the stables…” As if suddenly coming to her sense, she inhaled deeply and shook her head. Smiling politely, a smile that never reached her eyes. “How impolite of me–Please, come in. Just…this way.”

Tom thanked her as she lead them inside, guiding them just around the corner to an opulent parlor room. A drink bar with crystal glassware that reflected under the chandelier. Dark, cherry oak bookshelves lined with various titles…old, rare-looking books. First editions. Under different circumstances, she might have given anything to browse the collection for hours. 

“Please, do sit,” The woman said, gesturing to the plush, leather couch. “I’ll send someone to fetch him.”

She smiled at them, flustered eyes shifting to Elizabeth for the very first time, then back to Tom. “I apologize, it’s just that you…” She shook her head, a pinched smile returning. “I’ll be just a moment.”

She left the room quickly, the clip of her heels echoing down the hall–seeming to gain pace the further she grew. Assured that they were alone, she whirled to him, staring up at him with wide eyes. “What are you doing?”

He smirked, eyes flickering, and shrugged.

“Visiting my father.”

Chapter Text

To stand as he entered the room would have been a reflex reaction. A perfectly respectable and reasonable thing to do when it looked as if the boy beside her had aged 20 years in a matter of seconds.

A ghost of the future, it would seem.

She did not stand, but it was not without some effort. Because she severely wanted to–to ground herself to the solid floor. Exert some energy in search of some clarity. No, instead her eyes went wide and the very breath in her lungs went stagnant. Trapped and unmoving. She could hardly think to wonder what Tom must have been thinking, far too enthralled with sorting out her own whirling thoughts. The very first of which was that the woman who had opened the door–that poor old woman–had every right to react the way she had. Every right indeed.

Because Tom Riddle was an exact replica of his father. And staring back at his mirror image, Thomas Riddle senior seemed to know it as well.

Shifting uncomfortably in the doorway, still stood in his riding clothes–tan trousers tucked into tall leather boots, a white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. His build was just the same. Tall and firm–even his hair, its dark waves styled to the side the very way Tom did. He pulled his gaze from Tom to look to Elizabeth, seeming to pale at the sight of her–and then to the woman. Presumably his mother.

“What is the meaning of this?” He asked firmly after clearing his throat, his eyes moving back to Tom–as if unable to look away from him.

“Thomas,” The woman began cautiously, stepping beside her son. “This is…I’m so sorry, I’m afraid I never caught your names.”

Tom stood–raising slowly to his full height, like a creature readying itself for the hunt. He was an inch taller than his father, Elizabeth could tell even as she remained frozen on the couch, her knees tucked together, hands clasped in her lap.

“No need to apologize Madame,” He said politely, taking a step forward–his eyes zeroed in on the man before him. “My name is Tom Riddle…sir.”

Elizabeth had expected a reaction like that of Mrs. Riddle–her careful step back, the shock painted on her face. The way she looked to her soon, to Tom, then back to her son. As if silently begging for answers.

She had not expected Thomas Riddle’s reaction, or really, lack thereof. And it was entirely disconcerting. He didn’t move at all. Didn’t even look surprised or confused in the slightest. Because he wasn’t, Elizabeth realized in a lick of horror.

He had always known…

The connotations of it made her ill, nauseous at the thought of a man willingly abandoning his child. A boy…left alone in the slums of east end London. And him…perfectly content to live with that knowledge–so long as he got to return unscathed to his manor on the hill.

“Thomas…” Mrs. Riddle said quietly, her arm careful brushing against her son’s arm. Her son–who had yet to look away from his own. Her son–who did not harbour any ounce of shame…or guilt.

Before he could respond, though it seemed he had no intentions to, a loud voice sounded from behind him. “Sorry I’m late! I only just heard we had guests.”

A man in a brown suit said as he moved from behind Thomas Riddle, slightly shorter and more stout. But with the very same dark eyes…the very same brown hair, though speckled with streaks of grey. Cleanshaven, like his son.

Seeing the ghostly face of his wife, a boy of striking resemblance to his son stood in the centre of the parlour–he paused. Like his wife, he was more animated in his reaction. Head jerking back, brows furrowed in confusion.

“What’s this?” He asked, looking to his family with wide eyes.

Tom eyed the older man in annoyance.

“Is there anyone else in the home?” A firm command, as if it meant nothing that he stood in the presence of his elders. His grandfather. His father.

Mrs. Riddle startled at his sudden change in manner, stepping closer and gripping her son. “No, only the servant girl.”

“Excellent!” Tom exclaimed, and the door to the parlour slammed shut. Mrs. Riddle shrieked, looking behind in horror–to find that no one had been there to shut it.

Without a moment of hesitation, “It would seem there are those in the room still in the dark about our current predicament.” Tom said charismatically, looking intently at the man of interest. “Would you care to shed a bit of light…father?”

Only then did Thomas Riddle stiffen, a forced puff of laughter choked from his chest.

“This is ridiculous. Of course, I have no idea what you are on about boy–”

“Would you care to explain,” Tom said again, his words much firmer this time. “Or shall I make you.” He tilted his head, gazing unafraid at his muggle father. “The choice is yours.”

Thomas Riddle seethed, his chest rising and falling heavily…but the fear evident in his eyes.

“Thomas, what’s going on?”

“Quiet, mother!” Thomas Riddle yelled, barely glancing at his mother as he jerked. Beads of sweat formed upon his brow, glistening under the warm light of the chandelier hanging from above. He stared at Tom, looking him up and down. Jaw twitching.

“You’re like her, aren’t you?” He spit, suddenly looking to her. Disgust seeping through his gaze. “Both of you.”

Before he even had time to look away from her, Thomas Riddle forcefully fell to his knees. His hands snapping behind his back. Immobilized to submission.

Mr. Riddle took a firm step forward, his voice raising in panic. “What’s the meaning of this, boy?!”

This time, Tom held his wand–outstretched towards the man. And he too was forced to his knees, followed shortly by his wife. Who unsurprisingly let out a curdled scream of horror, struggling against her invisible binding. She was promptly forced into silence.

Twisting his wand in his hand, letting the sleek wood glide between his long fingers, Tom looked at his father with a brow raised. “Whatever do you mean father?”

Then he quickly pocketed his wand, the pale yew disappearing into the inner pocket of his trench coat. And he pulled out a different wand–the dark, curving wand he had taken from Morfin gaunt. He pointed the foreign wand at his father.

“Imperio.”

The spell, one she had never seen used before, emitted no light. Aside from a slight inhale from Thomas Riddle, his eyes fluttering, there was hardly any change.

Tom took a step forward, moving to tower over his kneeling father. “Do you know who I am?”

“You are my son.”

“Very good,” Tom sang mockingly. “Any other truths you’d like to share?”

“She bewitched me!” He cried, staring up at his son. “I hardly remember any of it.”

“Who?” Tom interrupted.

“The girl–from the village. The one that lived out in the woods, the girl from the strange family. She bewitched me, kept me hostage for months. And when she finally pulled me out form her–her curse, she told me she was pregnant! I was terrified so…I ran!”

“And abandoned you wife and unborn child?”

“She wasn’t my wife!” Thomas Riddle yelled, twisting uncomfortably against his invisible confines, but hardly struggling. As if he were releasing years of pent up frustration and anger. “I hardly even knew her! She used to watch me, you know. She might have been pretty but she was…disturbing! And then that brother of hers–the inbreed– he must have hexed me. Broke out in these-these hives!”

“Morfin?” Tom asked curiously.

“Don’t bloody remember his name,” Thomas scoffed. “The whole lot of them were mental. I was…blinded! She practically kidnapped me! I wanted nothing to do with her–or anything that bloodline could create.”

The words bit into Elizabeth sharply, a cold blow to what felt like her very soul. A startling, possessiveness twisting her stomach.

“I had no part in it–none! It’s her problem, not mine. And where is she now?”

“Dead.”

Clipped and emotionless, as if he were merely stating a fact. But she could feel it…the pang it sent through him–whatever it was. Sadness, anger, it was all the same. Elizabeth felt the urge to move towards him, to pull him from the forsaken manor and run–to the edge of the earth. Just like he promised.

“Oh,” Thomas Riddle said, looking caught off guard. “Well–I can only imagine it was her own fault. And what does it matter? Seems you survived just fine.”

His fingers rising to pinch the bridge of his nose, Tom sighed in frustration. “You’re far more pathetic than even I expected.”

“What do you want? Money?”

“Money? What good will your filthy muggle money be to me?” Tom scoffed, taking one last step closer to his father–stooping down to his level. “That bloodline you want nothing to do with…is the strongest bloodline this world has ever known.”

The wand that was not his traced the fragile skin of his father’s chin, stabbing where the bone met soft flesh. His words low and hissed, “Power that your mortal body will never know. My mother, weak as she may have been, held more power in her blood alone.”

Tom stood, stretching to his full height, staring down at the three individuals kneeling before him. Silent…submissive, without any ability to even fight back. Confusion and wonder, an almost childlike fear glistening in their eyes.

Quietly, as if trying to wade through thick water, Elizabeth stood. Feet falling silently against the polished floor, she stepped closer–and closer. Opening herself up to him, reaching out. She expected to feel his magic burn bright and red with anger. Like hers was beginning to. But it didn’t…it pulsed, slowly. Dark and grey…like boredom. Agitation at best.

“I want nothing from you.”

Morfin Gaunt’s wand pressed to Thomas Riddle’s brow, just between the dark eyes that peered up at his abandoned son. Even then, in what he must have known were his final moments, his eyes did not hold an inkling of shame. Thomas Riddle was a coward in life. And he would die the very same.

“I rid myself of it.”

A flash of bright green, white and blinding at the edges. A loud rush, a cold burst of air that bit at her skin–

“Avada Kadavra.”

Despite the light, Elizabeth managed to keep her eyes open–watching as Thomas Riddles eyes went white and cold, listening as his body fell to the floor. Slumping slowly, and then all at once.

Strange, she thought. To watch the life drain from someone, to practically see it evaporate from them. There one moment, and then gone the next…something she had not witnessed with Olive. In some ways, it made it feel less real.

Tom stared down at his father, observing the body thoughtfully. Curiously. Then, perhaps the strangest thing she could have expected him to do, Tom nudged him with the toe of his shiny, black shoe. As if he were checking for signs of life, assessing whether his work was successful. But rather than rolling him over so he could see the potential rising and falling of his chest–Tom pushed his shoulder further into the ground. Turning his face from view.

He promptly moved his wand to his grandfather, his words laced with even less emotion as he muttered the spell clearly. A second flash of green, followed almost immediately by a third. This time, Elizabeth did close her eyes. Nearly blinded by the fluorescent light.

Tom’s paternal grandparents received even less care than he had given his father. This time, he didn’t bother turning their faces from view. It didn’t seem to matter. Or maybe, with the slight slump of his shoulders, the way he rolled his neck, he was too exhausted to care.  

To kill even once was considered the most depleting displays of dark magic, even amongst a plethora of vile and wicked acts–to sacrifice, to pull against the very earthly things of elemental magic. To kill require intent…one had to mean it with ever fibre in their magic.

To kill three times, back-to-back without a moment to breathe…

Her eyes traced the slopes and sharp edges of the boy in profile. Handsome, even alarmingly so, and yet so unassuming. Not even seventeen…a boy. Through the heavy haze left by the remnants of dark magic, she looked at him. And she wondered what he was.

A muggle-born girl who had learned what little she knew about the magical world from books–could not reason with whatever strange matter had formed Tom Riddle.

His head turned slowly, his eyes finding hers with delay. The whites of his eyes bloodshot and red, his pupils blackened. The wand of another still clutched in his shaking hands. A slight movement of the lips, a tilt of the hand–and she too would be reduced to nothing with a single burst of green light.

Fingers outstretched, brushing against his arm in tenderness. Pulled further into him by some magnetic force the closer she got.

“Alright?” She whispered, searching his eyes for an answer.

He nodded, the faintest of smiles gracing his lips as he stared down at her–eyes trailing the skin of her cheeks. Then he whispered, “Tired.”

Her hand wrapped firmly around his arm, pulling her body to his.

“Let’s go.”  

‡‡‡

Cold water splashed at her ankles. Salty air nipped around them, earthy and hostile. Her shoes, sinking faster into the sand with every roll of the tide.

Apparition–it would seem–was not an exact science.

Magical exhaustion made it worse.

They trudged quickly to the shore, struggling through each wave–their clothes soaked heavy with water.

“Sorry,” Tom mumbled as they sat their trunks down beside them. Elizabeth leaned down to squeeze the water from the bottom of her dress. Her shoes were soaked.

It was night, and yet the full moon shinning off the sea illuminated everything so clearly. Soft, white sand. Cliffsides and grassy hills. Caves and arches, rocks peaking out beneath the surface of the dark sea, so dark it was nearly black–the horizon bleeding against the night sky. Impossible to see where one ended…and the other began.

And just beyond the way, on the top of a small hill, through tall grass and wildflowers sat a little saltbox cottage. Solid stone against the harsh winds.

Tom stared up at it, shaking his head.

“So close.”

“This is it?” Elizabeth said, staring up at him wide eyed. Her heart still beating impossibly fast. The farthest edge of the world…

Tom grinned back at her. “I told you.”

He cast a drying spell on them both, her feet instantly more comfortable without the added moisture. Even still, the sand remained.

Sand was…strange. It moved under her feet as they walked, making the job infinitely more difficult. Walking up the hill towards the grass felt like sliding. And it stuck to her. She could feel it in her shoes, sticking to her legs.

It was perfectly quaint inside the cottage, almost reminding her of the little homes in the village she had grown up in. And yet–this small cottage held more life–more romanticism than anything she was used to. The sort of place a poet might retreat…desperate for some flicker of inspiration.

A wooden table with matching chairs. Stacks of books near the bed–both magic and muggle. A little desk against the window. Linen curtains, rustling with the wind that seeped through the cracks. A door that must have led to a separate bathroom but a clawfoot bathtub practically in bedroom. Strange, she thought.

Distracted by her awe-struck observation of the cottage interior, she jolted at the sound of Tom collapsing onto the bed.

Elizabeth gasped his name breathlessly, lurching toward him. “What’s the matter?” She breathed, hands moving over him. His eyes were closed, his face pressed against the bedsheets. A look of total exhaustion. “Tom, what is it?”

At last, he slurred quietly, “S’nothing, ‘m fine.”

But her hands didn’t leave him, pressing the back of her fingers above his brow–as if checking for a fever. But there was no fever. In fact, it was the opposite. His skin was ice cold.

And through the haze, both buried beneath and intertwined with her own, she could feel his depleted magic.

A sparking, dying flame.

Fingers moving through his silky, dark hair, she stooped down and pressed her lips to his cheekbone–letting the warmth of them rest against his skin.

She pulled off his shoes and set them on the floor beside the bed. Manoeuvred his coat from his arms, and with some difficulty–and a whispered Tom, please–managed to turn him over onto his back. Unbuckling his belt, she pulled it from the loops and tossed it to the side. And at last, when he was left only in his white shirt, trousers, and socks–he took of her jacket and shoes and she too collapsed beside him. Not bothering to take off her dress, she curled into him. Head against his chest, eyes closed, she willed his magic to replenish. Imagining that somehow, she could fill him with hers.

Lulled by the steady thump of his heart against her ear, the crashing waves against the cliffside, Elizabeth fell into a dreamless sleep. Tom got warmer.

The chirping of summer birds woke her.

Bright sunlight seeping through the linen curtains, dripping her in liquid warmth.

Skin flushed, her stomach twisting.

God, she was–

A whimper escaped her and her eyes blinked open.

Hands splayed against her hips and thighs, sucking lips against her stomach. Kissing lower and lower until–

Elizabeth gasped, gripping the bedsheet and sitting up just enough that she could see Tom staring up at her from between her parted legs. The skirts of her dress pushed up to her waist, his lips against her thinly covered core.

Burning, desperate desire already burning inside her–dripping from her.

Spurred by her consciousness, his teeth nipped gently at her inner thighs. Her fingers tightened at the sensation.

What was that in his eyes? Lighter than she had ever seen them–golden amber in the morning sunlight. Unbridled feeling, so clear within their warmth. It was startling.

To see so clearly what was normally so guarded.

He pulled her knickers down the curve of her arse, tossing them behind him. Slender fingers trailed slowly back up her leg, grazing up her calf until he gripped her thigh and lifted her left leg up, up over his shoulder.

Elizabeth thought she had remembered the feel of his mouth against her so clearly– having pulled it to the forefront of her mind so often in the lonely confines of her bedroom.

But her memory paled in comparison to the feel of him now.

Teeth circling her, nipping and tugging–licking and sucking torturously. Her hands found his head, moving against his tousled waves and touching his face–holding him to her.

Much to her dismay, just as her body began to tighten, he pulled from her.

And in the morning daylight, she watched as he stripped the shirt from his torso. Exposing pale, toned muscle. The rippling valley of his stomach. The broad curve of his shoulders. Glistening collarbones.

Bending towards her, moving up her body–he moved so freely, so unconstrained. A far cry from the tense prefect–the Dark Lord of the Knights of Walpurgis she had known before. He moved like a boy filled with youth and hunger–desperate for the girl beneath him. Unabashedly lustful.

A dimpled smirk tugged at his lips as he stooped towards her, hands braced on either side her shoulders.

“You never responded to my letter.”

He was so close. His warm, minty breath against her face, just a touch of something softer–akin to earl grey tea.

She felt her face flush as the words in his last letter flashed in her mind. She sunk further into the plush pillows, but it only pressed her into his hips. She could feel him hard against her bare stomach through his trousers. Elizabeth swallowed thickly, her throat bobbing as she grew warm under his gaze. His face moved closer to hers, their noses barely touching. His eyes downcast, staring intently at her lips.

“Elizabeth,” he muttered. His hand against her hip, sliding under her dress against her ribs, moving it up even further. She hummed, eyes fluttering closed as his lips brushed under her jaw. “I need this god-damn dress off–”

He hardly even needed to pull her up–she sat up, eager and pliant as he pulled the dress from her body. Nearly bare beneath him, she shivered in silk and lace undergarments. His amber eyes drank in her skin, her nipples peaking against thin silk.

Whether from nerves or exquisite desire–Elizabeth was shaking with it.

Hands cupped at the small of her back, guiding her gently back down to the bed. Warm lips pressed to her sternum, moving lower as his fingers unclasped her bra and pulled it from her chest. Discarded somewhere, his head bent, and Tom’s mouth closed around a soft, hard nipple–his hand cupping the weight of her other breast.

A heavy sigh fell from her lips.

Head falling back into the pillows, back arching into his mouth.

She’d never felt desire like this. Reaching for it–burning with it. Pulling at his hair, hands moving over hard muscle flexing under soft skin. Daunted by the seeming impossibility of ever having enough of him. It wasn’t enough. It might never be.

His attention moved to her other breast, and his hand was gone–the soft sound of his fingers undoing the button and zipper of his trousers. Palm pressed against his hardness, the vibrations of his deep whimper rumbling against her.

He tore from her suddenly in a spur of self-constraint. Standing above her, chest rising and falling heavily–his lust so clear as he took her in.

Lush and dripping.

Dark hair splayed against the pillow in a halo.

Naked on his bed…for only him to see.

“Tom…” She whispered, hips shifting against the bed. Hand raised–reaching for him. Aching for him.

She didn’t care if she looked desperate, if her desire was unbecoming.

In one swift movement, he had pulled off his trousers and knelt against the bed between her legs.

Wide eyed and horrified, Elizabeth sat up.

“Oh my god, Tom,” She panicked, hands suddenly shaking. There was no way–it simply wouldn’t be possible.

“Shh,” Tom hushed her. Taking her hand and pressing it to her lips–hardly trying to contain his grin or the chuckle that escaped him. “What is it, little mouse?”

“Tom,” She breathed. Staring up at him–impossibly flushed–unable to stop her shy glances down. She wasn’t naïve, she knew what to expect. But she had prepared herself for unalarming. This, was most pointedly not that.

“Elizabeth,” He breathed. His lustful eyes–his wandering hands already moving against her again…she cried out as his fingers moved between her wet folds, circling her clit.

“Look at you…” Tom said lowly, groaning and kissing the tops of her breasts again.

Her hand squeezed his against the mattress, shaking her head. “There’s no way–” She gasped, his impossible fingers making her jolt. “You’ll rip me in two.”

“Yes,” He breathed. “Let me. Please.”

Hand moving from her core, he guided her legs, parting them open for him.

“Put your hands on my shoulders.”

She did, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him towards her, her breasts pushed against his chest. Warm flesh, sweet skin to skin. He kissed her and she felt his length slide against her.

At even this small thing, he groaned into her mouth. Pulling away just enough to gaze down at where they met. Then he whispered something, a spell she wasn’t familiar with. The latin was hurried, but a second later she felt an odd, fluttering warmth in the pit of her stomach. She had a good idea what it was.

Her mouth falling open as she felt him push against her core. His forehead dropped against hers. “Look at me,” He whispered, his words coming out in ragged breaths.

She looked. Eyes meeting his, brow pinching in a silent groan as, at last, she felt him push inside her.

He moved slowly, a mere push at first–parting her for him. She expected more…resistance? A sharp, splitting pain. But as his hands held her at her hips, the small of her back, pushing in even further–she found none of that. Pressure, perhaps even a rawness, but no sting of pain. She could feel him drag against her slick walls as he pulled out slightly, then pushed back in completely. A small jolt. She felt utterly full.

Unable–unwilling– to look anywhere else, she delighted in watching him.

The flash in his dark, amber eyes staring down at her–at where he disappeared inside of her. The crease of his brow. The slope of his dark pink lips, the dip of his cupids bow. His jaw slacked in euphoric pleasure. The freckle on the top of his cheekbone. His messy dark hair, hanging down just slightly against his forehead. She desperately wanted to brush it from his face but she couldn’t bring herself to move her arms.

“Fuck–Elizabeth, you feel…” His words were breathless, groaning as he twitched inside of her. He pulled her into him. He covered her completely, surrounded her wholly. Somehow under her, above her, inside of her–all at once.

At last he moved, shifting his hips just slightly and rolling into her.

Elizabeth groaned, her shaking hands tightening at the nape of his neck. His pace tantalizingly slow, she felt his heavy breath against her neck. Saw the careful, guarded restraint in his face. And she could feel it. The gentle grip of his hands, the measured movement of his thrusts. Even the weight he bore down on her–she saw it for what it was so clearly. He was painfully aware of his strength and yet he held her like water in his hand. Despite the burning desire, the itching need clear in his eyes.

Elizabeth whimpered, nearly crying out at the sheer emotion of it.

Tom hushed her, dipping to kiss her neck, letting his hands move to cup her ribs. “What is it?” He whispered, his voice ragged and rough. “You want me to stop?”

But she only shook her head, pulling him up to kiss her instead. And then…she pushed her hips up into him, humming in pleasure as it pushed him deeper.

She watched as relief flashed in his eyes. And with one hand played across her hip, the other reaching the grip the metal frame of the headboard above her, he moved faster. And with each heavy thrust, the look of him–glistening and heaving above her–any discomfort faded into pleasure. It built and built, pulling tight within her. Fingers pulling at the nape of his neck, her mouth fell open in a silent scream–a stuttered inhale.

“I know, baby. I know,” he muttered, his pace not slowing in the slightest–his hand trailing down her stomach until his fingers found her clit.

A moan ripped through her, hips jolting off the bed as his fingers circled her. “Tom,” She panted breathlessly, thighs clasped around his waist. “I can’t.”

It was too much–she couldn’t take this much of him at once.

“You can,” He dipped down and kissed her collarbones, nipping at the soft spot of her neck in a way that made her keen. Against the burning pace of his fingers, his hips rolling against hers, he whispered darkly in her ear. “You take me so good, baby.”

Eyes fluttering, she clenched around him.

“So good,” Tom groaned, reaching up to take one of her hands from his neck. Lacing their fingers together above her head. “Thought of just like this. Naked and wet beneath me. Fuck–merlin, look at you.”

Through hooded eyes he stared down at her, gaze falling to watch the slight bounce of her breasts without every thrust. Continuing to ramble in breathless mutters. “–made for me, I swear…so sweet–fucking perfect–ruin you–”

Her hand gripped his, her head lifting from the mattress and eagerly seeking his mouth. He kissed her fervently, licking and sucking–tugging at her bottom lip with his teeth.

He hissed words she didn’t understand against her lips. She wondered if he even he was doing it. Switching between languages so quickly–his parseltongue words of lustful pleasure punctuated by accented, cockney English.

“Tom,” she cried, toes curling and her heels pressing into his lower back to pull him in closer. She was bound so tight–she felt she could snap. The clenching of her stomach, the desperate, quivering need clawing within her. She shook with it. Jolting with every thrust against a certain spot within her. A whimpering mess, she begged for him. “Oh god, Tom–please. I’m–”

Her grinned down at her tauntingly. “Gonna cum around me, sweet girl? You like that?”

She nodded breathlessly.

“So beautiful–fucking mine–”

Her thighs stiffened, body pulled tight. “There’s no one but us–wanna hear those pretty sounds you make. Wanna hear you scream for me like a good girl.”

She fluttered around him, and spurred by his words–the sight of him above her–her vision blurred as she clenched around him. Crying out as she came.

Through the haze of her orgasm, she could feel him twitch inside of her. His stomach muscles pulled tight and with a few hard strokes he came inside of her in hot spurts. Limbs tangled, damp skin pressed together–they shook against each other.

Elizabeth’s ears were ringing. The whole world seemed to dampen and blur–everything else except his shining form above her moving out of focus. Eyes closed in pure ecstasy, the sharpness of his jaw as it hung open in a silent cry of pleasure.

Still struggling for air and reeling from her high, Tom’s lips attached to her cheeks and sucked at her skin as he rode out his orgasm. Then he collapsed against her small form, his skin burning hot. Her name falling breathlessly from his lips against her skin over–and over again.

Elizabeth’s blinking eyes stared up at the ceiling, it’s exposed wooden beams. White paint, worn and fraying from the harsh seaside air. Hands in his hair, she held his head to her chest. Surely, he could hear the rapid beating of her heart. The quick rise and fall of her lungs. And when at last he slipped from her tightening walls, her cry at the sudden feeling of emptiness.

Time passed strangely, seemingly undeterred by the constant crash of the waves–the ever-present misty morning light. For minutes, hours–it seemed, they lay intertwined. Tom sat propped against the headboard smoking a cigarette, careful not to let the ash scatter across her hair as she lay on his stomach. Gazing sleepily out the window to the feel of his fingers in her wild, dark hair. The moisture of the seaside air seemed to have given it new life, a volume and wavy texture she had never once achieved before. She felt drowsy, a little sore, and keenly satiated–entirely satisfied to watch the slow movement of the tides. To feel his skin stick to hers.

“Is it always like this?” She whispered.

To feel this closeness–this communion in another person?

To feel your magic sing at their touch?

To breathe their air as if it were your own?

“No,” he whispered back. “Never.”

It suddenly occurred to her to wonder whether he had done this before.

She had never seen him with another girl before, but she had also never asked. The rumors that swirled about his little group of Slytherin boys were very clear, but somehow, they never seemed to include him. She wondered and wondered–and decided she would simply rather not know.

Maybe later. Not now.

Not in this little world that didn’t extend beyond the horizon–that knew nothing but them.

This Eden of their own.

A little while later, she whispered again.

“I think I could lay here forever.”

“Yes,” he whispered, brushing her hair from her cheek, from her swollen lips and tucking it behind her ear. “Lets.”

Then she sat up–not without some difficulty–and wrapped her arms around his neck to grin at him. “We could stay here forever. Imagine–we didn’t go back to school. We could stay here. In this little cottage, in bed…No one else, just me and you.” She leaned in close, whispering against his lips before she kissed him. “…the edge of the world to ourselves.”

Tom grinned back, holding her hips as he maneuvered her leg over to sit on his lap. “That’s all you want, the edge of the world?”

Elizabeth nodded.

His strong hands splayed against the small of her back moved her closer and she could feel him harden against her–gasping at her sudden, overwhelming desire to have him again. Wrapping her arms tighter around his shoulders, groaning as he slid inside her sore, pleading core.

“Not the whole world?”

Dizzy at her molten desire, the feel of him inside her again, she could hardly even think to respond. She stared down at him.

He looked back up at her through dark, hooded eyes and thrust up into her–her swollen lips gasping open in a silent cry.

“I’ll give you it all.”

Chapter Text

The sun rose and fell around their little world as unwavering and unnoticed as the ocean tides.

The days blurred together in a haze of salt air and warm skin. They would wake with the cool morning sun, a gnawing hunger clawing at them both that was seemingly impossible to satisfy. Clutching at bedsheets and crying out from the edge of the cliffside until their cheeks were flushed pink, perspiration clinging to their skin. And before the sun could reach its peak and the days grew too hot, Tom would pull her out to swim with him. The water was cool–cold even if she wasn’t overheating from their morning activities…if she did not press her naked body to his through the lapping waves.

The bathtub–that was practically in the bedroom–found great use. The pipes couldn’t heat in the slightest, but that was no problem when you had magic at your disposal. Elizabeth would tug Tom into the warm, soapy water with her with every intention of scrubbing the sea salt from their skin…only to be distracted by his wandering hands and devouring lips.

Hands framed above her, grasping at the rim of the clawfoot tub, he would thrust into her. And for the very first time in her life–Elizabeth didn’t care about the mess. The water sloshing over onto the wooden floor could be evaporated in a second. It hardly mattered–nothing mattered. Nothing except the way he looked above her. The flexing of his arms, the way her name fell from his lips. His wet hair against his furrowed brow as he gripped her hips.

And then she would sit there at the little wooden table with a forgotten cup of tea and an even more forgotten book that she would pretend to read. Damp hair at her shoulders, dressed in a jumper that was his.

And she would stare at him.

She would stare at him, contemplating the pressure in her chest and wonder if it was like this for everyone. If the gentle possession she felt every time she looked at him was normal–the tug within her every time she heard his voice. The way she didn’t even have to speak, and he knew. It couldn’t possibly be, she thought. How would anything get done?

Besides–she had seen her parents…her grandparents. She knew every person in her little village and not once had it appeared that way for any of them. Not in the slightest. To love was the secretly hate. Was it not? Loving was rough and loud. It was broken tea cups and bloody fists.

Unwillingly, she thought of her mother. Of the tired relief she found only in the absence of her father. She could hardly imagine it. Even the thought of not being with Tom every second of the day when the school year approached was enough to send panic coursing through her.

And like clockwork, sensing her racing heart, his eyes met hers. He reached for her with beckoning fingers.

She untangled her legs and set her book on the table. She went to him. Crawling up the bed to plop herself into his lap, her head immediately falling into the crook of his neck. Breathing him in, letting her fingernails graze against the hard skin of his bare stomach and–ah, yes. There it was again.

That unshakable desire.

“Tom,” She whispered against him, pulling him closer. Letting him feel her warmth through her thin knickers.

Wide hands trailing up her back beneath the jumper, she could feel him chuckle and groan.

“Needy little thing,” he taunted pulling her closer and pressing a kiss high against her cheek bone.

Elizabeth pulled away from him, just enough that she could see him clearly. She pushed the tousled brown waves from his face–a shade or two darker than he had been before. Of course he could get a suntan. Why shouldn’t he resemble something of a Greek God more with every passing day? Spiteful and insecure–she couldn’t help but feel a little bit lucky to at least get to look at him every day.

“If I take you now we’ll never make it out of here,” He said lowly, leaning forward to nip at her neck.

Elizabeth hummed. Quietly she whispered, “Isn’t it lucky that we don’t have to leave then…”

Tom leaned back and smirked. A sharp pinch at her hip– “Get dressed.”

Elizabeth, crestfallen and wide eyed, blinked back. “What?”

“We have a very important meeting at 11 and she hates tardiness.”

“What time is it now?” She hadn’t known what the time was for days. “And who is she? Who are we meeting?”

Tom picked her up easily and lifted her off of him, standing to his full height and stretching—tight, flexing muscles on display as he reached his hands above his head. “She is Anja Bogdanov.”

“The designer?! But she’s in—”

“Romania, yes. Which is why we’re on a tight schedule.”

Elizabeth stared up at him in dismay. Her hair was a mess, she didn’t even need a mirror to tell. The salt water and humid air had made it wavy. If you could even call it that. It was frizzy, dry in some areas and still damp in others. Still terribly pale, bare faced and dressed only in his navy knit jumper. Could he not see what a right mess she was?

Panic coursing through her, she tried to recall everything Yvonne Parkinson had said about Anja Bogdanov–the designer. That she was highly selective…that she was supposedly in retirement…

Elizabeth was entirely uncut out for this.

“Oh merlin,” She groaned, collapsing backwards onto the bed and pressing her palms to her eyes. “You are entirely impossible! Would it kill you to enlighten me every once in a while, you–you are a conniving little–”

Her hands were pulled from her face to reveal Tom smirking down at her.

“Go on…” He urged, brow raised.

Elizabeth scowled.

“What time is it?” She asked again.

“Just past 10.”

Elizabeth sighed, allowing her eyes to fall closed.

Holding her wrists firmly, Tom pulled her up to stand. “I’ll tell you everything you need to know while we get ready.”

Elizabeth eyed him warily as she trudged towards her open trunk, clothes and other various items spilling out haphazardly. “Yes, and knowing you that will be meager at best.”

Tom threw his head back and laughed loudly as he walked towards the bathroom.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, kneeling on the floor to rifle through her clothes. What did one wear to see a designer?

Tom spoke from the bathroom, his voice echoing down the short distance.

“I’ve known Anja for a few years now–but technically speaking she is an old friend of the Gaunt’s. I found her while I was doing research.”

Elizabeth stilled, turning to watch him as he buttoned his shirt. Surely–the man he had killed weeks ago in that shack had not been dressed by this Anja Bogdanov…

Tom glanced at her, smirking slightly. “Much older Gaunts.”

“How old is she?”

“I’ve never asked. I don’t think I would recommend it.”

Noted. Witches and wizards could live to be much older than muggles, but it was still considered impolite to ask a witch her age.

“She’s the best designer in the world and has been for the past century. Do with that information what you will.” She watched as he rolled his sleeves–as he wet his hair and tousled it, pushing it back from his brow.

“Yvonne said she’s supposed to be in retirement.” Elizabeth said, standing and walking towards him. She leaned against the doorframe, watching him with keen interest as he readied himself for the day.

“Well…retirement is a loose word. Anja is–highly selective.”

“But she works with you.”

Tom looked at her with dark eyes. “Of course.”

He moved towards her, his hands cupping the sides of her neck. He smirked down at her. “Anja is rather fond of me…it was tradition for her to dress me. But she’s requested you.”

Elizabeth was perplexed. She didn’t know what to say.

“But…” Elizabeth hesitated, staring up at him. “What do I wear?”

‡‡‡

Anja Bogdanov was, without a doubt, the most terrifying woman that Elizabeth had ever met.

Tom’s hint was generous. Because for starters, Anja had to be nearing 200 years old. Her white hair was wrapped up in a floral scarf, the fabric framing her plump face. Sharp eyes with thick black makeup and wrinkled lips painted with a dark purple. Draped in layer upon layer of robes–all of varying patterns. Tassels upon tassels, she practically jingled when she walked. And her walk was more of a hobble–despite how quickly she seemed to move around.

But even worse, she was rather…aggressive in her affections. Anja puttered about, muttering to herself and worrying over both her and Tom in her thick Romanian accent. Elizabeth was never the touchy sort, but she didn’t dare tell Anja that as she continuously pressed her bony hands to her cheeks–grasping at her hips and arms.

“Toma! Look at her, fată frumoasă, how could you not tell me?”

“Good bones in the face–do you see, Toma?”

“No-no, stand here. Arms up, dragă–yes good.”

Anja’s wand moved quickly–long measuring tapes wrapping around Elizabeth under her bidding. Anja would call out numbers, and the quill hovering beside her would hastily scratch them down on a pad of paper. Pinching, squeezing, and draping various fabrics against her skin–Elizabeth stood frozen on the platform in the center of the little cottage. All while Tom stood watching, incredibly amused at the display before him.

Elizabeth distracted herself by observing Anja’s home. Because aside from the pitiful shack she had the misfortune of standing in, this was the very first magical home she had ever been in. And despite Anja’s grasping hands and fussing–everything about her home was warm. From the flickering lamps to the dark fabrics. The various magical appliances that carried on with their work without anyone telling them to. The spinning wheel that spun string over and over, it's gentle whirring filling the room. A watering can that moved about the kitchen, feeding the plants that lined the shelves and windows.

Such little things–it all made something burst within her to see such common place displays of magic. To think that people lived like this…with magic all around them. Perfectly content in their identities. She yearned for that–for the day when she wouldn’t feel like some undeserving imposter…Straddling two world, neither of which felt like her own.

“These fabrics are no good,” Anja tutted, tossing a bit of cream fabric behind her. “Nu e bine.”

She flicked her wand again and the wall of hanging fabric shuffled, rearranging itself to reveal an entirely different selection of fabrics. Anja plucked a long strip of muted, Aegean blue silk…and held it beside her face.

Anja hummed, then shook her head. “Take off your top.”

Elizabeth blinked back.

“I beg your pardon?”

Anja pinched at her white blouse. “Off! I need to see your skin–off girl!”

Her hands worked quickly at the buttons of her blouse, untucking it from her wrap around skirt and tugging it off her shoulders until she stood on that damned platform in only a thin, lace bralette. The nerve of the woman!

Elizabeth shivered, face slightly flushed as she did her very best not to look at Tom or his amused little smirk. It wasn’t as if he had never seen her naked before…but this was something else entirely.

Anja held the blue fabric up to her again, draping it against her chest and eyeing it carefully. The way it contrasted against the skin of her collarbones. Only this time, Anja hummed with satisfaction.

She pulled down another strip of fabric, this one a rich shade of burgundy. This one pleased Anja even more.

“Toma–do you see? Like blood against her skin, it is perfect!”

She folded the fabric, practically velvet to the touch, and wrapped it around her, tucking it beneath her arms. “Yes!” Anja cried, “Very good…”

Then she pulled a thick cream piece and held it in the burgundy’s place. “On it’s own it is no good,” she explained, holding her wand to the fabric. “But see how I–”

In what must have been the most complicated display of transformational magic Elizabeth had ever seen, intricate, lavish embroidery appeared in its place. Silk thread and small jewels, embroidered from top to bottom in a repeating pattern of small squill flowers.

Anja stood back to observe the small section of embroidered fabric and nodded tersely. “It will need gloves.”

She scooped up the pile of fabrics, bustling into a different room. “I must go to Paris for the thread–ach! I hate Paris!” Her voice echoed down the hall.

“Wait one week and I will send you the box.”

Elizabeth listened to fabric shuffling, and what sounded like heavy equipment shifting. Then Anja reappeared.

“If something does not fit, you tell no one but me! I come to fix it for you. And when someone asks what dress you wear you say Anja Bogdanov but you will not ever tell them where I live. Do you understand me girl?”

Elizabeth nodded hastily, stooping down to pick up her blouse and pull it on.

“Y-Yes, understood.”

The old woman smiled, her wrinkled face brightening as she clapped her hands together. “Very good!” She looked at Tom and waved him off. “I know what my Toma need–he know Anja always know what’s best.”

Tom smiled, taking her hand and leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek. “Of course, Anja, always.”

When they arrived back at the cottage, Elizabeth was tense. Unable to separate herself from gnawing worry over. Kicking her flats to the side of the bed, her hands grasped at the tie of her skirt, struggling to unfasten it.

“What is it?”

Clouded behind annoyance, there was lingering amusement. Had what she said to him not been enough? It was always the same–what more did he want from her? She ignored him. Rigid fingers growing frustrated with her skirt.

“Elizabeth.”

 She whirled around to face him, huffing in exasperation as her hands fell to her sides. Elizabeth shook her head.

Her voice small and pleading.

“I don’t know how to do this–Tom. Any of this.”

Not Season. Not dress fittings–not struggling to connect the dots of the magical upper society. Not seaside getaways or secret societies. Hell–she wasn’t entirely sure she even knew how to love. Perhaps that was why she couldn’t untangle the knot growing within her every time she looked at him–if that’s what it was.

“I know,” Tom said softly, creeping towards her. Each step was careful, waiting to ensure she wouldn’t back away before he took another. And then another until they were practically touching. “I’ll show you…everything you need to know.”

She said nothing, struggling to keep her breathing steady as he stared down at her.

“I chose you–don’t you realize that?”

Her breath caught as his fingers found the tie of her skirt she had been struggling with.

“I chose you…” His head stooped lower, lips grazing against her cheek. Voice impossibly low. “Because I can see you. I see everything about you. Your potential…You’re the only one that can do it, Elizabeth. Just you.”  

Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered.

“You have to trust me,” His hushed voice firm. “You have to trust that I give you what you need most.”

“And I do, but–”

His fingers tugged at her skirt, pulling her hips to his roughly. “Then don’t question me.”

Suddenly, the tie of her skirt at last gave way and the material fell to the floor.

Her eyes fell to stare at the material on the floor, brushing against her bare feet. And before she could react, his hands cupped the base of her neck and he leaned down to kiss her forehead. Then his fingers moved to the buttons of her blouse, quickly undoing them one by one until he pushed it from her shoulders and onto the floor.

She stood waiting for him to do more. Every cell in her body begging and ready for his touch. But he was entirely still. 

“I have some things to take care of.” He said quietly, stepping away from her.

A sharp pang lurched in her heart. Wide-eyed, barefoot, and shivering from the cool air, she watched from across the room as he buttoned his vest and pulled on a suit jacket.

“What?” She whispered, her voice barely audible. Her eyes followed his every movement as he cupped his hands and lit a cigarette.

“Are you going somewhere?”

His eyes shifted to her, watching her sharply as he exhaled a long drag of cloudy smoke. The room grew darker with every second. The cold blue-grey of twilight. 

“Just business.”

Elizabeth could hear it. The finality in his words. Don’t ask unnecessary questions, they said. I give you what you need most.

Nothing more.

An involuntary shiver moved through her. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself, biting at her inner cheeks. Then tersely, she nodded.

Tom moved towards her–holding the flickering cigarette away as he leaned in to kiss her. A single, devouring kiss. As if to remind her that she was his.

Rather than watch him walk out the door, her gaze locked on the window in the small kitchenette. It didn’t quite seal shut, and with the ocean wind that seeped through the sheer curtains moved in a ghostly fashion.

She didn’t know how he would get where he needed to go–wherever that was. Perhaps he had a hundred portkeys lying around, like the one they had used to go to Romania and back. Maybe he was only traveling a short distance and would apparate. Either way–she could feel the energy shift the very second he disappeared. And suddenly the creaks of the old cottage, the cool air that moved through the cracks that had never bothered her before were unbearable.

Looking around the open space, she found Tom’s blue knit jumper and pulled it on. Then she climbed into bed and pulled the sheets up over her head. Because the edge of the world felt awfully like the edge of a cliff when you were alone.

Chapter Text

On a hot day in early July, they stepped into the decadent drawing room of Malfoy Manor. The past several days had been a bitter re-awakening for Elizabeth. The tension had pulled her from the haze of whatever foreign world she had lived in for nearly two weeks. Ah, those blissful two weeks at the edge of the world.  

The cold air of Malfoy Manor washed over her with the sting of reality.

Beside her, Tom set down their briefcases on the marbled floors. Quick, clicking footsteps echoed down the hall and Abraxas Malfoy–tall, sharp, and blonde as ever–grinned from the doorway. A small house-elf peered around his leg.

“Let me guess…you aren’t late, the others are merely early.”

“Precisely,” Tom smirked, his shoulders shrugging back as he straightened his posture and stood tall.

Abraxas shook his head, gesturing to their bags. “Nibby, take their things to their rooms.”

“Yes, Master Abraxas,” the house-elf tutted, scuttling across the room before taking the bags in his small hands and disapparating.  

Elizabeth repeated the house-elves name, committing it to memory to thank her later.

Abraxas led them through the manor, chatting casually with Tom about the various goings on in their separation. But Elizabeth wasn’t listening. She was far too transfixed by the manor. Holding on to Tom’s hand, she stumbled behind him–her eyes drinking in every bit. Grand staircases and even grander, glimmering chandeliers. Fine trimming and tiled floors, every bit of decoration looked as if it had been carefully selected and imported from far away. They passed several long hallways filled with portraits that eyed her warily. Suddenly, the pretty sundress that had seemed more than appropriate this morning made her feel self-conscious and underdressed.

They went up several flights of stairs until they reached what Elizabeth assumed was the tallest floor. And down the hallway, he led them into a rooftop sunroom. Warm summer air and sunlight washed over through room through opened windows and paned glass. It almost made the young men smoking on plush couches seem like academics summering in the Italian countryside.

The room came alive at their entrance, their lazy figures suddenly awakening.

Timothy Nott leapt from the couch, reaching for Elizabeth and pulling her into a tight embrace. When he pulled away, he held his cigarette between his lips and smiled down at her. “The seaside agrees with you, my lady.”

Elizabeth blushed. She couldn’t help it. When it came to the shameless flirtations of Timothy Nott, no one was safe.

“Nott–let the poor girl sit down,” Corvus sighed. He was laying on the floor, an arm thrown across his eyes to block out the bright rays of sun.

Timothy rolled his eyes but moved aside nevertheless and sat back down on the couch beside Nicholas, who was leaned over the coffee table in a game of wizard’s chess against Francis. Tom sat down on the couch across from them, eyeing their game board suspiciously. No doubt judging their wrong moves and calculating how they should next manoeuvre. His eyes never leaving the board, he reached out his hand for her. When she took it, he pulled her down next to him–so close that she was practically sitting on his lap. His arm draped behind her on the back of the seat.

Despite herself, she eased into his warmth. This has been her constant battle for days now. No matter how hurt she felt at his abandonment–his perpetual secrecy–she simply wasn’t strong enough to withstand his affection. It all paled in his quiet displays of possession. In fact, his leaving her that night had only made her need him more.

She settled in further, nestling into his side and curling in on herself.

“Is everything confirmed for this evening?” His fingertips ghosted the edge of her shoulder, barely brushing the exposed skin. She had to hold back a shiver. He was being rather…touchy. Not that there had been any lack of touching these past few weeks, but that had all been in private. At school, when they were around the other knights, he had strictly maintained an unspoken hands-off policy. Apparently that had changed.

“I reviewed the guest list with mother just this morning.” Abraxas said, peering out over the manor lawns before he turned to look at Tom. “Everyone will be in attendance.”

“Everyone?”

“Everyone.”

Elizabeth felt him shift. Her eyes moved between the two, trying to understand what had been silently conveyed–but she was blind to it.

“Wonderful.”

‡‡‡

After a gruelling hour of listening to the knights argue about politics, Elizabeth was nearly asleep.

Yvonne Parkinson bursting through the door came as quite the surprise.

“Abraxas–” She practically screamed. “I thought we talked about this! I need the room with the big closet this time.” Yvonne heaved, her arms full of stacked dresses and hat boxes. Abraxas didn’t say anything, not that he had time before her eyes landed on Elizabeth.

“Elizabeth?! What are you doing up here?”

Elizabeth sat up slowly, untangling herself from Tom and blinking the sleep from her eyes.

“Ridiculous–all of you! Holding her hostage up here,” Yvonne muttered, trying to balance the mass of things in one arm to reach out for her with the other. “Come on, let’s go.”

Elizabeth took her hand and stood, looking back at Tom hesitantly. “I’ll just…”

He cocked his head in Yvonne’s direction and spoke softly. “Go on.”

“I had a few of your things delivered to my room–I hope you don’t mind. I thought it would be best that we got ready together, it being your first season and all.” Yvonne explained as Elizabeth followed her into her room. The room was…elaborate for a guest room. She shouldn’t have expected any less from Malfoy manor. It made her curious about her own, but that would have to wait until later.

In the next few hours, one thing became very clear to Elizabeth. And that was that really rather liked Yvonne Parkinson. Sure–she talked a lot. But everything she said meant something. Her mind was simply pouring over the edges with information. And to someone like Elizabeth who craved every bit of information–every detail that she could expect, Yvonne Parkinson was heaven sent.

There was also something to be said about her ability to make you feel entirely at home. She treated you as if she had known you forever. As if you were merely a lifelong friend. She buzzed around the room–talking and talking and leaving warmth in her wake.

When she began helping Elizabeth with her hair and makeup, she explained everything she did. Always asking for permission, then detailing what everything did–and why she opted for this face powder over that.

“You have the prettiest face,” Yvonne said plainly. “It’s soft in all the right places without compromising your bone structure.”

Elizabeth blinked back at her. It was a rather…technical explanation. But her manner of fact demeanour somehow made Elizabeth actually believe her.

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said, letting Yvonne angle her face to carefully line her lips.

“In total honesty–I was rather jealous of Tom’s attention to you at first.”

Now this was news. Given her limited experience of Yvonne and Tom’s previous interactions, Elizabeth had always thought that Yvonne was rather annoyed by Tom. Even now as she second guessed herself, romantic attraction didn’t seem to fit.

“Oh don’t furrow your brow like that you’ll crease the makeup,” Yvonne huffed, pressing the powder to her face once again. “Nothing like that I can assure you. I’m not blind–Tom is quite the specimen. But he’s not my type. No…it was more the premise.”

Elizabeth tried her best not to furrow her brow again. “What do you mean?”

Yvonne gazed off in contemplation for a moment before beginning. “Tom is…very guarded. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Tom show an ounce of interest in something besides his grades and political ambition. He’s calculated and smart, and though he does his best not to show it he’s also very rough. The attention he shows you isn’t that. He’s very soft with you. Even the way he looks at you. It makes the contrast jarring. Do you get what I mean?”

“I think so,” Elizabeth said thoughtfully.

“It’s a nice premise. The idea that someone can be different around just you. It shows a certain level of restraint. When someone with incredible strength can be soft just for you because they want to be–now that’s attractive.”

Elizabeth couldn’t help but blush.

“Is Timothy not…soft with you?”

She second guessed her words immediately. She wasn’t even sure how official Timothy and Yvonne were–or if she was supposed to know about that. Was that polite to ask someone?

But Yvonne only shrugged. “Sometimes. But it’s different. I tell him what I like and don’t like. And he listens. But just between us–I hate telling people what to do.”

Elizabeth was pretty sure she understood now.

“There,” Yvonne grinned, brushing the curled hair away from her face. “Voila! Now look in the mirror!”

Elizabeth turned in her upholstered armchair to look in the mirror behind her.

She had felt the prettiest she had ever felt in her entire life the night of Slughorn’s party. Otherworldly–like a true witch. But this…this was something else entirely. This was something distinctly her.

Yvonne was an artist. She had masterfully elevated her features, sharpened her cheekbones, and made her eyes glisten. Her hair was pulled back in a sophisticated chignon, the pieces at her face curling softly. She looked ethereal. Soft and glowing.

Yvonne’s own make-up was much starker–her eyes darkened and lips a bold, dark red. A true femme fatale. Based on Yvonne’s own logic, her ability to hone her craft to suit Elizabeth’s very different tastes made her a master of the craft.

“It’s beautiful,” Elizabeth said earnestly. “Thank you.”

Yvonne smiled, her teeth sparkling white against painted red lips. “I’m so glad you think so. Now put on your dress! I’ve never seen one of Anja’s dresses in person…”

Though she had tried on the dresses at the cottage, it had been hasty. And to ensure that Tom wouldn’t see, it meant she too hadn’t gotten a good look at herself in them. Laid out on the bed, Elizabeth let Yvonne choose. “Whichever you think is most fitting for the evening,” She had said.

Yvonne had eyed the burgundy dress carefully but shook her head.

“It’s the opening night of Season–you have to make an entrance. Everything has to be perfectly suited to exactly who you are,” Yvonne explained. And chose the sleeveless cream dress, fitted at the waist before pooling down. Just as Anja Bogdanov had demonstrated, it was entirely detailed with silk thread and small jewels. It was soft and ethereal, but still commanding.

“Good choice,” Elizabeth nodded in agreement. “It’s got matching gloves.”

Yvonne screamed in delight so loudly that the boys–wherever they were–must have heard her.

‡‡‡

Yvonne had left her alone in the room nearly half an hour ago under the guise of needing a drink. But Elizabeth knew better. Yvonne had given her a moment to herself. A moment that was much needed. 

She couldn't stop pacing—or examining herself in the mirror. Running her hands over the embroidered bodice...tucking and untucking a strand of hair behind her ear...and adjusting her gloves. She was fidgeting and she knew it. The high heels she wore were significantly taller than she was used to, and she struggled to walk steadily. It would give her away as a fraud. Though she looked the part, she couldn't shake the fear that everyone would see right through the thin veil of a designer gown. She was walking onto a chess board to play a game to which she didn't know the rules. 

A knock at the door pulled her from her spiraling thoughts. 

"Elizabeth." The sound of his voice muffled through the door. 

Elizabeth breathed in sharply, adjusting her dress and gloves one last time before opening the door. 

Tom stood in the doorway. Hands in his pockets, leaning over clicking his feet together. He looked rather boyish like that. But as he looked up and his eyes met hers, she felt heat pool in her stomach. With dark eyes, pressed robes, and hair slick and styled in a way it never had been before, Elizabeth suddenly felt an all-consuming need to scream. 

She watched as his chest heaved with a single deep inhale. A hand dragged over his mouth and jaw as his eyes trailed the length of her body. Tracing the curve of her hips, the lines of her exposed neck and collarbones. 

"You look..." His eyes met hers, liquid and dark. "Come here." 

She took his hand eagerly and let him pull her against him. His warm lips pressed to her cheek, gently tracing the underside of her jaw until her head fell to the side.

"You're beautiful," He whispered hotly in her ear, and warmth bloomed across her whole body. 

At last, he pulled away. Taking her arm and looping it around his as he grinned down at her. "Shall we?" 

Elizabeth hummed, nodding in agreement. 

He led her through the manor. And as they ascended the stairs, she could hear the distant sounds of music, laughter, and conversation. It grew louder as they approached the main ballroom. So many people moved about the previously empty halls—all of them dressed in their finest. 

The decorations were extravagant. Lush floral bouquets decorated every table and hung precariously from the ceiling alongside enchanted chandeliers. And the longer she looked, Elizabeth noticed that the floral bouquets were blooming. Every few seconds, a new pale pink rose would bloom and give new life to the ballroom. Any way she looked, everything seemed to sparkle. From the tall marble columns to the bedazzled dresses. 

Noticing her intrigue, Tom stooped down to speak quietly into her ear. "Mrs. Malfoy takes hosting the first night of Season very seriously." 

Elizabeth smiled up at him. "I can see that. It's all so lovely." 

And it was lovely. Everything was lovely and magical—and yet she couldn't shake a feeling of unease. 

"Where are the others?" Elizabeth asked nervously, anxious to see a familiar face. 

"Around. I'm sure we will see them eventually." His eyes scanned the room, neck stretching up to peer over the crowd. As if he were searching for someone. 

Then his hold on her arm strengthened. "Come. There's someone I want you to meet." 

‡‡‡

Yvonne was already bored. Worse—she was bored and she was tipsy. A terrible combination, really, because it loosened her already rather loose tongue. 

"Of course she's here again, I mean really she's awful," Yvonne said, gesturing to Genova Greengrass. 

Corvus Lestrange snickered, but attempted to cover it up by taking another sip of his champagne. 

"Yes but I thought she was engaged to that Ivonov boy, the one from Durmstrang. What was his name again? Abraxas you know who I'm talking about, don't you?" Nicholas said, hand pressed to his forehead in thought. 

"Petre." Abraxas said shortly. 

"Yes! Petre Ivonov, that's it. Weren't they engaged?" Nicholas said, still looking incredibly confused. 

"Key word—were." Yvonne said sharply. "His parents called it off in the spring. They just couldn't handle it, couldn't take any more hellish lunches with her. The girl never stops talking." 

"You know Yvonne, some people might say the same about you," Francis smirked. 

Yvonne only glared over her firewhiskey. 

"Maybe I'll marry her. Get my mother of my back." 

"Yeah sure you would Francis," Nicholas rolled his eyes. "I'm sure she would be incredibly accommodating to your guests." 

Francis only shrugged. "You never know." 

She felt a hand graze to the exposed skin of her lower back. Timothy stepped into the group, pressing close to her and speaking quietly, the urgency in his voice undeniable. 

"He's here." 

It was all he needed to say. An instant cold washed over all of them. Yvonne gripped her drink tighter. 

"Who's with him?" Yvonne asked quietly. 

Timothy only shrugged. "A man and a woman, not sure who they are." 

Yvonne hummed, looking through the crowd—attempting to catch a glimpse. 

"Does Tom know?" Abraxas asked roughly. 

"If he doesn't already, I suspect he will soon..." 

Chapter Text

Mrs. Vera Malfoy valued few things more than utter perfection.

Her husband, Septimus—namely.

Her only son Abraxas even more so.

Yes, those were her true loves. But perfection… it had a certain sweetness to it. If something was going to be done it was going to be done well. Because when you did something perfectly—say, throw a party—people noticed. And they adored you for it. Tonight, as guests began to leave, they would take her hands and tell her what a delight the evening had been. They would compliment her decorating and her taste in champagne. They would tell her that the manor had never looked better! And in the morning, hordes of owls would deliver letters carrying similar sentiments.

Vera would respond with the utmost humility and thank them for their kind words. She would bask in the feeling for a moment or so—the sort of feeling that only came when you had done something perfectly. Then right away she would begin her preparations for the next event.

But as for right now, Vera could barely contain the pride blooming within her at her work. It was, she could admit, really some of her finest. Because it had to be.

Tonight was different.

For starters, Abraxas was nearing the age of engagement. He would need to find a suitable girl this Season in order to be married by his eighth year—or at the very least engaged. Tonight was her best shot at making a very clear statement. Her son was the best, and she would accept nothing less from his match.

Second, tonight was a political event. Vera was making a statement. Asserting her presence and opinion on the future of the political world—as well as making her power in the matter explicitly clear. The guest list would say that much.

Pureblood society was a den of vipers. But she could at the very least be in charge of the den. It was only natural that it be a woman’s job.

The sentiment warmed her blood as she painted on her best smile—and outstretched a delicate hand.

“Mr. Grindelwald I can assure you, the pleasure is entirely mine.”

He wore a perfectly pressed three-piece heather suit and decadent robes. His grey-white hair slicked back. He had aged in the years since she had seen him last. Even before she was Mrs. Vera Malfoy. And yet he still carried that same charismatic charm that was nearly unmatched. Nearly.  

He smiled as he took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Mrs. Malfoy. Lady of the Manor. I must say…the title suits you. You shine.”

The corner of Vera's mouth twitched up in the slightest prideful smirk, but she clutched at her husband's arm and beamed up at him. “What can I say? I adore it.”

Septimus Malfoy smiled down at his wife in pure adoration.

Vera turned back to Gellert Grindelwald, looking at his two companions with carefully sculpted elegance. “Gellert, you must introduce us to your guests!”

“Of course!” Grindelwald said, turning to the man on his left. “Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, this is my most trusted companion—Nikolai Nagel.”

A handsome young man, perhaps only a few years older than her Abraxas, stretched out his hand to take hers. He was tall and broad with light brown hair. If she were not so utterly obsessed with her husband, his attention might have made her blush.

“His father has been a loyal confidant of mine for some time now. Likewise, he has raised his son to be something of a diplomat.”

“And this…my right hand…is Druella Carrow.”

The woman was sharp and elegant. Her dark hair was carefully styled, and she wore a highly fashionable gown.

“Mrs. Malfoy,” Druella began, her French accent soft and sleek. “You have a beautiful home.”

Vera couldn’t help but respect her. After all—there were few things she found more agreeable than perfection.

“Merci beaucoup, Mademoiselle,” Vera responded—happy to make use of some of her French. “Nous sommes heureux de vous accueillir.”

Druella Carrow looked impressed and responded to her welcome with a very pleased nod.  

“Gellert, have you met my son?” Vera asked.

“No, I don’t believe I have.”

“Abraxas!” Vera called to the tall boy just a few paces from them. She waved him over despite the nervous hesitation evident on his face as he approached the group. “Abraxas darling, I want to introduce you to Mr. Gellert Grindelwald. He’s something of an old friend.”

The hesitation that had riddled Abraxas Malfoy’s face only seconds before was gone—replaced by a firm outstretch of his hand and strong shoulders. “Mr. Grindelwald, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I must say, my comrades and I are fans of yours. We’ve followed you carefully these past few years.”

Gellert Grindelwald quirked an eyebrow, eyeing the young man carefully…considering him tastefully. “I am flattered, young Malfoy. Do you see yourself pursuing a future in politics?”

“Yes sir,” Abraxas nodded, clasping his hands behind his back. “I’ll be starting my seventh year at Hogwarts this fall. But come graduation I’d like to begin work at the Ministry.”

Vera beamed at her son. 

“Hogwarts…you say?”

“Yes, sir.” Abraxas nodded. And for a second, worry flipped in his mother's stomach. Gellert Grindelwald had gone to Durmstrang. Of course—they took a rather different approach to schooling. But surely he still had some respect for Hogwarts. It was, after all, the wizarding world’s finest.

“Fascinating indeed,” Grindelwald cooed. There was only intrigue and approval in the man’s eyes.

Vera breathed a sigh of relief. Silently urging her son to go on. To make an impression...for his own good. As well as the family's. 

“But really Mr. Grindelwald, it’s my friend Tom you should meet.”

Vera tensed, glancing up at Septimus in hesitation. She adored Tom. Had welcomed him into her home time and time again. But the boy was...strange. 

“Is it?” Grindelwald asked, a brow quirked in interest. “Tom who? Friend from school?”

“Yes, sir. Tom Riddle. He’s a genius—sir. And I think you’ll find his insights rather valuable to your cause.”

The excitement in Gellert Grindelwald’s eyes was unquestionable.

“Oh my, young Malfoy. That is a rather generous claim.” He said, glancing the Druella as if he found the whole thing rather comical.

But Abraxas Malfoy did not waver.

“It’s the truth, sir.”

Gellert Grindelwald grinned. “Very well then. I must meet this genius at once.”

‡‡‡

“Tom,” Elizabeth whispered, pulling on Tom’s arm as she gestured slightly to Abraxas Malfoy moving towards them. His pace quick and determined as he maneuvered through the crowd.

Abraxas moved in, stepping close enough to speak quietly in Tom’s ear. His words were short and vague.

“He’s here.”

Elizabeth could feel him stiffen. Could feel the slight surge of magic radiate from him—such a complex mixture of energy that she couldn’t decipher it. Peering up at him, she could see the excitement. The anticipation—as well as the confidence. But underneath this, the remnants of it pulsing somewhere in her own veins was something that felt like fear.

But of course, that had to be wrong, she reminded herself. Tom feared nothing. Perhaps it was her own fear.

“Alright…” Tom said slowly—carefully. “Take me to him.”

 Still clutching his arm, they followed Abraxas across the room.

As they approached, Elizabeth knew instantly who was who. The blonde couple, regal and refined. Standing as if they were getting their portrait painted. The Malfoys.

And then the man. Standing with his back turned to them in between two other people. She knew.

Gellert Grindelwald.

It was the strangest thing. Because despite the prominence of her name, she had never seen a picture of him. And yet she knew from his presence alone because it was uncannily akin to Tom’s. The way it oozed from him. As if magic were seeping from his pores and setting everyone around him on edge.

As they approached, a good distance still between them, Grindelwald turned. As if sensing their presence.

Like calls to like…

He didn’t look surprised or caught off guard. Tom was exactly who he had been waiting to see. And he had arrived exactly when he thought he would.

Abraxas moved off to the side to stand beside his mother.

Tom stopped in front of Grindelwald, Elizabeth on his arm.

“Mr. Grindelwald,” Tom began, stretching out his right hand. “I—”

“Thomas, is it?” The man interrupted, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake. Elizabeth watched as Tom’s jaw twitched slightly.

“Your friend Mr. Malfoy here speaks very highly of you young man.”

“Does he?” Tom said, glancing at Abraxas. “That’s very kind of him. It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

“Based on what I hear—I suppose I should be honored to meet you as well…Tell me, do you also plan to pursue a career in politics?”

“Yes, sir. I suppose you could call it that.”

Understanding flickered in Grindelwald’s crystalline eyes. And he chuckled.

“Too true, Mr. Riddle,” He said, as if they had shared an inside joke.

Beyond Mr. Grindelwald, Elizabeth caught sight of a young man from the corner of her eye. Elizabeth tensed under his intent gaze. Brunette, tall, and rough—his deep-set eyes focused entirely on her. Elizabeth looked away, leaning a bit closer to Tom. But she could still feel him…the feel of it burning against her skin.

“And do you also attend Hogwarts?”

“Yes, sir,” Tom nodded. “Top of my class.”

“Excellent,” He nodded as if he expected nothing less. “Enjoying all your classes?”

“Most of them,” Tom said plainly. Grindelwald grinned at his answer.

“I’m sure.”

Then almost in surprise, Grindelwald glanced down at her. “And who do we have here?” He asked, charm laced in every word as he gazed at her affectionately. He stretched out his hand, beckoning her to take it. “My sincerest apologies, my love. My mother always said I was far too excitable. I hate to prove her right.”

He looked up at the group, all of them erupting in polite laughter as if on cue. Elizabeth placed her small hand in his.

“Elizabeth Warren, sir. It’s lovely to meet you.” Without trying, she found her voice naturally rising. Lighter and airer than usual. As if she were attempting to be the softest, most refined version of herself.

Grindelwald raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. His pale eyes gazed into hers. He was rather…charming.

“Elizabeth,” He repeated softly, squeezing her hand. “Always a pleasure to be in such beautiful company.”

Elizabeth flushed. Eternally grateful when he released her hand and took a step back. Even more so now, she could feel the gaze of his male acquaintance.

“What a striking pair the two of you make,” Grindelwald said thoughtfully, his eyes taking them in together. Tom stood taller, his arm adjusting hers and pulling her against him possessively. The feel of it washed over her. A silent sentiment.

Are you alright?

She squeezed back, glancing up at him in adoration.

Yes.

“Let me introduce you to my closest acolytes, Ms. Druella Carrow and Mr. Nikolai Nagel.”

The woman—Druella—nodded politely to them both. But the tall man stepped forward and took Elizabeth’s hand. Elizabeth was taken aback. She watched carefully, her hand tense as he kissed her hand just as Grindelwald had.

“Miss Elizabeth…” He said slowly. His voice held a strong accent. Something northern. Dutch—perhaps. Maybe Russian. She wasn’t very good at interpreting those sorts of things. Her stomach flipped.

Seconds passed, and still he had not let go of her hand. She grew hot under his attention. Even more nervous knowing that everyone was watching.

She nodded, giving a slight tug on her hand. Trying to pull it away from his as politely as possible. But his grasp was firm. His eyes unwavering.

Elizabeth looked up at Tom—a silent cry for help.

But he wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he was glaring at Nikolai.

“Nikolai…” Grindelwald said quietly. “Come now.”

Nikolai quickly let go of her hand, nodding politely as he stepped back behind Grindelwald. He carefully avoided looking towards Tom. Tom, who very much had not looked away from him.

“Well, Mr. Riddle…Elizabeth. I certainly hope we will be seeing more of each other.” Grindelwald spoke, breaking the silence. “I wouldn’t want to take young people away from the fun, but if you find it agreeable I would love to speak more later this evening Thomas. I’m anxious to hear about these ideas your friend thinks will be invaluable to my cause.”

“Of course, sir. Nowhere I’d rather be.”

Grindelwald smiled. “Wonderful.”

He nodded to the Malfoys. “Well then! I’m off to find a drink.”

Grindelwald left, his acolytes close on his heels. Mrs. Malfoy pulled Abraxas towards them, speaking to him in hushed urgency.

Tom and Elizabeth were left alone.

But Tom’s eyes remained focused on the tall man.

Elizabeth moved in front of him, her hands splayed against his hips as she peered up at him. “Tom?” She whispered.

He hummed, his jaw clenching once more before he looked down at her.

“Something’s not right.”

Elizabeth frowned. “What do you mean? I thought that went quite well.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s something else,” His hands held her arms, just above the hem of her gloves, but his eyes glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t know.”

Elizabeth sighed—a breath of air that released the tension she had been holding all night. She suddenly became more aware of their surroundings. The music…

“Come dance with me,” She quietly begged.

Tom looked down at her. The corner of his mouth upturned in a smirk. A dimpled cheek that made her heart clench.

A mere word…whispered and soft. A softness just for her.

“Alright.”

Elizabeth took his hand and led him towards the centre of the ballroom. The soft vibration of violins filled the room. An orchestra—not just enchanted instruments. Before Elizabeth could turn around, he spun her around and pulled her to his chest. A heavy hand pressed to her lower back. Her lithe form was firm against his hard body. Elizabeth placed a hand on his shoulder, and he swept her into a waltz.

His steps were careful and practiced. Anyone watching might have thought he was trained by the most exclusive teachers in pureblood society. But Elizabeth knew that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Tom’s steps were quick enough to stay in tune with the music but slow enough that Elizabeth could keep up.

“People are watching you,” Elizabeth said shyly, glancing at the crowds that had slowed to watch them in interest.

Tom shook his head. “No.”

“No?” Elizabeth laughed up at him. He looked so…pretty seemed a strange word to use. But it was fitting. The way the chandelier light illuminated his face. Brown eyes warm and soft. She liked his hair like that…

“I’m not blind, Elizabeth.” He said softly, glancing up to observe the crowds. “They’re watching you in this god damned dress.”

Elizabeth burned hot.

She was done with this party. There were too many people. It was too warm—the lights were too bright. She’d had her fun. Seen what she needed to see. She yearned for Cornwall. To be back in their little cottage—alone at the edge of the world. Images of her naked body against his flashed in her mind.

As if he could sense her thoughts—feel the growing need within her—Tom laughed and kissed her cheek.

“You’re insatiable,” he whispered hotly in her ear.

“Let’s go,” Elizabeth begged, brushing her gloved fingers against the bare skin of his neck.

Tom stooped down and kissed at her neck. Elizabeth eyes fell shut, practically limp in his arms. Silently begging him for more. Please—

He pulled away.

“I should find Grindelwald first.”

Elizabeth could have collapsed.

“Ok,” She forced. “Where is he?”

He gestured towards the hallway.

“He just left that way. I might be able to follow him.” Tom took a step back, his hands dragging down her gloved forearms. He tilted his head towards a corner of the room. Elizabeth looked to see the knights and Yvonne.  

“Go with them. I’ll find you when I’m done. Then I’ll take you to bed.”

Elizabeth swallowed thickly, then nodded and dropped his hands. Tom took a careful step backwards, his eyes never leaving hers. She was silently pleading. But he only smirked and shook his head. “Go on,” He whispered.

Elizabeth obediently turned, wringing her hands together as she walked towards the group. How long was this going to take? How long did parties usually last? God—how could anyone stand this long in heels?

She quickly pulled her wand from the small pocket Anya had sewn into her dress and cast a cushioning charm. There…at least that was a little better.

‡‡‡

Yvonne’s face lit up when she saw her. The girl pushed through the boys to get to her—throwing her arms around Elizabeth in relief.

“My darling, darling Elizabeth. You’ve come to rescue me—I know you have. Look boys, isn’t she gorgeous? Elizabeth, go on! Show the lads your dress.”

Elizabeth smiled, looking over the knights—minus Abraxas—quickly. Then shyly, she held her dress and gave them a slight curtsy. A chorus of cheers sounded from them. Yvonne’s hasty clapping was the loudest.

“We saw you talking to Grindelwald,” Nicholas said, his eyes bright with intrigue. “How did it go?”

Francis handed her a bubbling flute of champagne, a collection of pink berries floating inside. She thanked him quietly.

“Good, I think. He’s very…charismatic. And he seems rather taken by Tom.”

Nicholas rolled his eyes. “Who isn’t?”

Elizabeth nodded in agreement, taking a sip of champagne. “Tom went to find him again.”

“Good,” Timothy said. “Tonight is our best shot.”

The other knights echoed their agreement.

“Any matchmaking success this evening?” Elizabeth said as she took another sip. She was feeling rather mischievous. Maybe it was the champagne. Much stronger than the muggle kind.

But the Knights only snorted.

“I swear the lot gets smaller every year. Think I might take one for the team and try courting outside the lines.” Corvus said thoughtfully, his eyes scanning the room.

“Yeah sure,” Timothy chuckled. “Sure that’ll go over well with your father.”

Corvus shrugged. “All I’m saying is I’ve given most of these find witches a try already.”

“Not Camille Lavigne.” Nicholas said quietly, glancing up from behind the rim of his fire whiskey.

Corvus visibly balked and cursed in French. “That’s low even for you Avery!”

The Knights snickered.

“Who is Camille?” Elizabeth asked.

Yvonne sighed. “Corvus has been in love with Camille Lavigne since he was five years old. She goes to Beauxbatons.”

“She’s not interested,” Corvus interjected. As if that alone would put an end to the conversation.

“Oh I think uninterested is a rather soft way to put it,” Francis hummed. “Two years ago Corvus sent her a Valentine. That Summer she shoved it back in his face.”

“She’s vile,” Corvus scowled down at his empty glass.

“Yes—and you still love her.” Yvonne said.

“The greatest love is the greatest pain…” Corvus whispered sullenly, shaking his head in defeat. “Plus, she’s only my 3^rd cousin. That’s as good as you can get these days.”

“Oh Corvus,” Elizabeth laughed, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and hugging him from the side. “Don’t lose faith. You never know, perhaps her heart has softened to you.”

Corvus only scowled. “I doubt it.”

Elizabeth had just pulled away and straightened when she felt a tap on her bare shoulder. She turned quickly. And in the slight haze from her drink, it took a moment for her to recognize who stood far too close to her.

“Miss Elizabeth,” He began, that same thick accent. “Please join me in a dance.”

She had a mere second to glance back at Yvonne’s confused face before he grasped her arm and pulled her away. Dragged—really. Completely caught off guard, her thoughts a little slower after drinking her champagne too quickly, she couldn’t think to react.

He took her empty glass and vanished it. Then he took her hand and brought it to his shoulder, her others clasped much too tightly in his hand. His own hand was placed at the swell of her hip. The very position she had been in just minutes ago with Tom. And yet this felt entirely different. She was stiff and slow. Practically immobile. Why couldn’t she think to react?

The soft hum of stringed instruments grew louder in crescendo. The room began to spin in sync—and Nikolai pulled her into a dreamlike dance. The steps were much faster. Elizabeth stumbled over her feet, struggling to keep up. Her head looked left and right. But the room was entirely unaware of her or the tall man trapping her against his body.

The music picked up speed. And with it, the room moved faster.

“I wonder,” Nikolai began, his words hot against her neck. “If your Riddle understands what he has in his hands.”

Her head still turned away from him, she chanced a quick glance up and swallowed thickly.

Whatever that meant.

The song would be over soon. And surely, it would only be one song.

She felt his chuckle vibrate against her. His grip on her hand tightened and he spun her out. At the end of the rotation, she managed a single gasping breath before he tugged her back against his form.

“How curious. You do not even know.”

Elizabeth’s heart beat faster.

“Know what?” She seethed, glaring up at him as they danced. To be under his gaze was nearly unbearable. He was attractive—painfully so. But he held an edge…the sharpness of his features and the intensity of his gaze. Lupine-like features. He stared down at her in amusement.

“Gellert is enchanted by the boy,” Nikolai said simply. “He is a fool.”

“Tom is a visionary,” Elizabeth said defensively, glancing towards the orchestra for any sign that the song was ending.

Nikolai hummed. “Yes—an unremarkable thing. He is but a mind…”

His gaze locked on hers.

“Not a weapon.”

Her exposed skin suddenly felt cold. Goose flesh rising to her flesh. Her breathing fell heavy.

“What are you saying?”

Nikolai’s voice was quiet. In the loud room, no one would hear a word.

“I see you for what you are…Elizabeth. I have known your kind.”

A sudden rush of anger surged through her. Without faltering in their dance, she dug her fingernails into his flesh through her silk gloves. And hissed up at him.

“What do you mean my kind?”

But Nikolai did not react. Only shook his head in amusement and spun her out one last time—in tune with the violent crescendo of the song. And at last, as the room erupted in applause, he dropped her hand. And bowed at the waist.

Gazing up at her through his brows.

Elizabeth stood with her hands at her sides breathing heavily. Her chest rose and fell as she struggled to collect herself.

Then a flash of black moved in front of her. A firm hand on her hip. Moving her backward…guarding her.

“We’re going now.”

It was practically a growl.

An arm wrapped around her protectively as he quickly guided her away. Elizabeth eased into his touch, tucking into his side. Her hands instinctively grasped at him for purchase. They walked quickly. And despite herself, she glanced backward.

Nikolai stood unmoved. His eyes followed her—and her alone. That same glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

The satisfaction of knowing something that she did not.

It was a sickening feeling. Weakness.

‡‡‡

“—carve his eyes out if he takes one step near you again,” Tom seethed. The hallways had emptied slightly as the vening grew late. His ranting continued, a jumbled mess of growled threats as he practically carried her limp body up the stairs. “Should’ve slit his throat the moment he touched you—”

They reached a bedroom door. Before they could go inside, he slammed against the wall and covered her body with his. His lips kissed at her lips then quickly moved across her cheek and up her jaw. Sloppily kissing at the soft spot below her ear.

“Are you alright?” He whispered hastily. “Did he hurt you?”

His chest heaved as he looked down at her—eyes scanning her quickly.

Elizabeth shook her head. “I’m…I’m fine.”

She was unharmed. Unhurt.

So why did it feel like a lie?

Tom nodded, then pulled out his wand to unlock the door and pull her inside. They slipped off their shoes and Tom shrugged off his outer robes. Then one by one, he pulled the silk gloves off her hands. He quickly unbuttoned his dress shirt, then turned her around. Her dress had no zipper, just tight corset lacing that could only be undone with magic. With her back turned to him, Tom made quick work of the lacing and her dress pooled at the floor beneath her. Elizabeth shivered at the cold, her arms involuntarily moved to cover her bare chest. But Tom was faster. He cupped her breasts and pulled her against him, his face buried in the nook of her neck and shoulder. Elizabeth sighed and relaxed back against him, her arms moving to cover his.

“You’re mine,” He whispered roughly against her skin. Teeth nipping at her pulse. “Mine.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes.

His right hand gently trailed down her stomach. Dipping beneath her white lace knickers. Elizabeth quietly gasped as his middle finger circled her already slick bundle of nerves. Tom groaned against her.

“This for me?” He said thickly. Elizabeth nodded, her hips tilting towards his touch in need. He slipped a single finger inside of her, pumping in and out of her—

Then he pulled his hand from her knickers. The other squeezed her breast.

“You belong to me,” He heaved. “And I’m gonna fuck what’s mine.”

He picked her up, then he carried her to the bed and laid her down on the mattress.

“On your knees.”

Elizabeth obeyed, moving up onto her knees and spreading them slightly for balance. Then he firmly guided her upper body down to the mattress. He pulled her hips up, forcing her back to arch. Her hands clawed at the sheets above her and she groaned.

In one swift movement, he tore the thin scrap of her knickers from her body. Tossing them somewhere across the room. Elizabeth’s mouth fell open, struggling to glance back at him in shock. Tom unbuckled his belt and hastily shrugged off his trousers to reveal his hard length.

His large hands gripped at her hip bones. Squeezed at the swell of her ass. Then his fingers trailed over her wet heat, dipping in and out of her at a painstakingly slow pace as he spread her hot slick. It was unbearable. Her hips rolled, arching back against his fingers. “Please—”

He leaned over against her. She could feel his hard cock pressed against the back of her thigh. “Beg for it, little witch,” He whispered in her ear. His hand twisted in her hair, roughly angling her face to him. “Tell me how much you need me, Elizabeth.”

“So much, Tom—please. I need you.”

Tom hummed in satisfaction. And without warning, his length slid inside of her in one hard thrust. He slammed into her. Hard and fast.

It was a sickening mix of pain and pleasure. She could feel him against her, his hard body covering hers. Intimate and possessive—despite not being able to see him. He held her hair. Gripped at her neck. His lips trailed kisses down her shoulder blades and spine as he fucked into her.

A hand pressed into the mattress beside her face. She watched as his fingers clutched at the sheets. The veins and muscles pulsing in his hand and forearm. She clenched around him at the sight.

“My good-fucking-girl,” He panted. “—like it rough like this?”

Elizabeth struggled, hardly able to breathe as she managed the slightest of nods. She moved a hand backward, blindly reaching for him. He took it, intertwining their fingers and twisting her arm against her back.

“I know,” He droned, his pace faltering. “Take it however I give it to you…my pretty little slut.”

His thrusts quickened. Elizabeth felt lightheaded. Her legs shaking as she clenched around him. She struggled, trying to hold off her climax. But there would be nothing she could do.

“Tom,” She panted, squeezing his hand. “I’m gonna cum.”

He groaned. Leaning down to kiss at her neck as he fucked into her. “Cum for me,” He whispered. “Cum on my cock like a good—”

Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open in a silent scream. Her eyes pinched tightly shut as she came hard around him. Toes curling, legs shaking. Her muscles were still tight around him, she heard him curse and quickly pull his length from her. Still loopy and reeling from her high, she swayed as he pulled her up and off of the bed. On her knees before him, his dripping—throbbing cock in front of her face.

Chest heaving, he carefully brushed back the hair that had fallen loose and tucked it behind her ear.

Instinctively, she knew exactly what he wanted her to do. And at that moment, there was nothing she wanted more than to have him in her mouth. Core still throbbing, she opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue. Staring up at him in pure need. He groaned at the sight of her on her knees before him, eagerly rubbing the head of his cock against her tongue. Elizabeth gripped him at the base, taking over as she licked over him. The heady taste of herself on him went straight to her head. He wouldn’t last, she knew that. And she didn’t want him to. Motivated by pure instinct, she closed her lips around him and sucked him into her mouth. Taking as much of him as she could, she relaxed her tongue around him and bobbed down. Jaw slacked, she gagged slightly when he slid down her throat. But she moved back up—sucking as she went. The taste of him and the sight of him above her were almost too much. The way his biceps flexed, fingers tightening as he gently held her head. Not pushing or forcing her. Merely guiding and supporting her. His jaw tightened, eyes closing as he threw his head back with a groan.

She committed the image to memory, bobbing back down and struggling to take even more of him.

“Elizabeth,” He groaned. “I’m gonna—”

She didn’t falter. Her movements grew faster, her tongue dragging against the underside of his cock. Her heat throbbing, clenching around nothing at the thought of his cum down her throat.

“Shit,” He choked, involuntarily thrusting into her mouth. She felt him twitch inside of her—then tasted the hot spurts as they painted her tongue. She sucked and licked. And only when he had stilled and heaved above her did she slide him from her mouth—and swallow.

Elizabeth hummed. Wiping the corners of her mouth before sucking her fingers clean.

Tom’s hands hooked under her arms, and he pulled her up to sit on the edge of the bed. Leaning over her, he kissed her furiously.  

“You wicked girl,” He muttered against her lips.

Elizabeth smiled, wrapping both arms around his neck and pulling him closer. He kissed her again, then pulled back slightly to take her in.

He smiled adoringly, eyes moving over her messy hair and smeared makeup. He chuckled, kissing the corner of her mouth. “You’re a mess.”

Elizabeth laughed, pulling at his hair. Once neatly styled, now a mess of tousled waves.

“So are you.”

He picked her up, legs wrapping around his waist. And he carried her into the attached bathroom and set her on the counter. He turned on the shower—wetting a cloth to wipe off her mouth as the water warmed in seconds. He was talking quietly. Repeating back a jumbled recitation of his meeting with Grindelwald. Jumping from a dissection of things Grindelwald had said—too lengthy summary of his opinions. Changes he would make.

Elizabeth tried to listen. But mostly she watched him. Transfixed by his small movements.

Even when he helped her into the shower with him, standing under the spray of hot water as he rinsed out her hair. She tried to listen. To avoid the echo of Nikolai’s words in her mind.

Over and over again.

As if some part of her were still anchored in that moment. Waiting for some explanation. The part of her mind that had been awakened.

Your kind.

Your kind.

She brushed out her wet hair and let Tom tug one of his warm jumpers over her head. And even in the darkness, limbs intertwined and nearly lulled to sleep by the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear…his words pulled at her.

Your kind.