It sounded like the start of a cliche - girl meets boy, girl is intrigued by boy's tall, dark and mysterious ways, boy learns to love because of girl. But such cliches exist only in fairy tales.
This is not one of those.
What a start to her last year at school.
Katherine boarded the bus to King's Cross, counting the stitches on the hem of her coat. This particular September was quite chilly, and the war was not helping either. Although they were nearing the end (that's what Churchill said), the Wizarding War had only begun.
Grindelwald had already annexed several Wizarding territories under Dark rule, and the advance to Britain was only 'the most logical step', as many of her classmates confided during hours in each other in the library when they thought no one could hear. Germany truly is as it's pinnacle, she thought wryly, Grindelwald for the gifted and Hitler for the humans.
"Kings Cross," the porter announced, and she stepped out into the windy, smoky mess that was London. She had transfigured her trunks to resemble a satchel and backpack for ease of travel, loading them all to a trolley as she casually strolled into a barrier. "Vera verto," and with a flick of her wand, the trunks changed back to normal to be put in the luggage compartment of the Hogwarts Express. Being of age was liberating as she didn't have to lug those heavy pieces of metal and cloth all around alone now - she could turn them into whatever the hell she pleased.
"Going to be a slightly shorter walk," A parent smiled at her, looking at the badge pinned to her chest. "Katherine Summers, aren't you? My Lauren, who's a fifth year Slytherin and Prefect now herself, mind you, tells me all about her friendly Slytherin senior who, I can see, is Head Girl."
"Well, I'll give Lauren a big thank you for that," she replied, heading to the first carriage from the end, a book under her arm. She took her designated seat, the younger prefects milling about in the corridor, eagerly discussing their badges above everything else. A little while later, a dark haired boy she recognised as former Slytherin prefect, Tom Riddle, entered the carriage, the gaggle of prefects gathered outside quickly settling into various spots in the small compartment.
"You all can take a seat, you know," he smiled, making the girls either flush or return with snarky comments. Kate found the expression beautiful, but somehow unsettling - she had seen plenty of him through the past six years, especially since they had taken the same subject combination for their sixth and seventh years.
Tom was a league apart - she was someone who preferred to apply her intelligence to books and spells; he was someone who could get his way around anyone, in any manner he desired. Besides, she had no time for boys and their antics, while he was an open invitation to cause trouble during midnight hours.
"Well, I would prefer if everyone introduced themselves," he spoke again, and many inched forward in their seats, eager to please their idol. Lauren, as her mother had pointed her out, was a proud-faced powerhouse of a girl, taking this chance to shine with utter ease. "Lauren Smiths, Slytherin Prefect, as you see," she answered with a blinding smile. "Good to see you, Lauren," was his perfect reply (all calculated smiles with the right inflections), before he moved on to the next. Kate waited until the others were done fawning over him before she introduced herself.
"Katherine Summers, former Slytherin Prefect and now Head Girl. Pleased to meet all of you," she added the last line with a soft, reassuring smile. Riddle quirked an eyebrow, and she could feel the boy's eyes rake across her, searching for something to identify her with.
"Haven't heard of you before," one of the Hufflepuffs pointed out.
"That's because I was chosen for a quieter style of leadership, to contrast with the flamboyance our Head Boy is so fond of. Someone has to keep the balance." The statement brought another questioning look, sparkling dark eyes settling upon her own grey ones.
"Well, with the way she has taken the room, I suppose I can claim witness to that assertion." A look of mirth (and was that interest in her?) was etched on his face, and Kate felt her face heat up by the unexpected attention being lavished on her.
They discussed duties, and Tom let her take equal part in the discussion (which Kate found odd, she'd always heard he dominated conversations, but weak minds make weak conversations, and hers wasn't anything but strong). Once the necessities were done with, the rest of the students dispersed. That left the two of them in the compartment, and Kate had gotten too comfortable to budge for the gaggle of Slytherins that poured in.
The group was composed of the Slytherin (and perhaps the school's) elite - Walburga and Orion Black, Randolph Lestrange and Abraxas Malfoy being the most noted. They collected around Riddle like a pack of wolves, she noted, always so eager to assert dominance, but also ready to be at the beck and call of the leader.
Abraxas filled up the silence with his entertaining but inane chatter about family matter and the rather disconcerting enthusiasm the Malfoys showed for Grindelwald's campaign. Kate always wondered that the Malfoys, who considered themselves of purest pedigree, could be stupid enough to think that magic could discriminate between people, forget families and races. After all, they were the ones that claimed Merlin's lineage (which was a load of Porlock dung, she always told herself) - Abraxas must be the bad egg of the family then.
Tired of Druella Rosier's chatter about the resurgence of Slytherin's monster, Kate excused herself from the compartment, desperate to find a quiet corner to read.
"I suppose Druella does get too intense about her passions," a voice quipped, and, turning to look at the speaker Kate dropped her book in the case. The object in question was quickly levitated back to her hands, Riddle smiling oddly at her.
"You call that faceless monster a passion?"
"Our definitions can differ," he tilted his head, adjusting his stance by the carriage window. "Sometimes our interests can delve into what society calls macabre, or taboo. But again, isn't society a changing construct?"
"Like those Death Eaters making the rounds." Kate very well suspected that part of Riddle's dark glamour was the motley crew of troublemakers called the 'Death Eaters' that he had assembled in the past two years.
"I suppose, madam."
"No need to call me madam, Riddle. Summers would work much better than that."
"Well then, Summers - I can safely assume you and I will be seeing much more of each other this year." She nodded and, upon seeing the trolley lady make her way towards them, began fishing in her satchel for a Sickle.
"I'll get that," Tom replied, placing a pale hand over her busy one while pulling out a Sickle from his pocket. "What would you like?"
"As long as they aren't liquorice wands, anything," she answered, whisking her hand away from underneath his. He nodded, offering the trolley lady the silver coin for two Cauldron Cakes and two packs of Bertie Bott's, passing her one of each. She could hear Abraxas and Randolph arguing over getting eight packs of Droobles' as the door of their compartment opened, with the noise ceasing soon
"It seems like Walburga has effectively settled this case as well," Tom quipped, popping a bean in his mouth.
"Seems like quite the negotiator," Kate replied, munching on her Cauldron Cake. "Shouldn't you be heading back to them?"
"It isn't easy to let go of the luxury of intelligent conversation," he looked at her with that trademark crooked smile of his, head tilted to a side. Kate would like to say that she was immune to such charms but no, even she felt those telltale butterflies in her stomach when Tom Riddle gave her his famous heartbreaker smile.
"You must be pretty desperate to consider discussing sweets and people intelligent topics for a conversation," she returned playfully, and Riddle smiled again, albeit mischievously, as if the two of them had developed an inside joke.
"I can tell my term with you will be an interesting one. See you soon, Kate Summers," he said for a parting message as Walburga Black sauntered up to him, trailing a hand up his arm. Kate turned away, sighing as she headed for a mandatory inspection. Boys like him are only trouble, and look only for that, and she wasn't even remotely 'trouble'.
But then, as Riddle said, their definitions could differ.
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