He's beautiful, she thinks when she first sees him. He is one of those people who practically radiate charm, and he has the Slytherin girls fawning over him in no time, even as a first year. Everyone else looks around the Great Hall uncomfortably, but he makes himself at home immediately, and it draws the others to him. He doesn't look new, or out of place. He fits in perfectly, as if he'd been there all along.
She sits resolutely at her own table, fascinated, mentally making a note to greet him later, when he isn't surrounded by an entourage.
So she does, that very evening in the corridor. Well, technically, he greets her, but it still counts.
"Minerva, was it?" he calls out from behind her. His boldness surprises her. The norm at Hogwarts was to call strangers by their last name, not their first.
She wonders if she should stop and reply, considering it is almost curfew, but she decides to, anyway.
"It was, Mr Riddle."
He flinches at the name. Bad memories, perhaps, she muses.
"Tom," he says.
She repeats it, trying the short syllable out. He smiles as she says it, that lovely smile that she saw earlier tonight, the one that she knew was entirely superficial.
"Why do you do that?" she questions, tilting her head slightly.
"Do what?" He sounds confused, and a bit taken aback.
Was he expecting her to swoon for him? Minerva wonders with a small smile.
"Hide behind that mask. The one with that fake smile."
His eyes widen for a split second, and it doesn't escape her notice. She sees the façade drop, but it is back in an instant and she realises how it has become an inalienable part of him.
He is an enigma, and she has always loved solving puzzles.
He's dangerous, she reminds herself as she tries to focus on her foot-long Charms essay. She doesn't quite succeed in pushing him out of her mind, but her friend's words echo in her ears.
He opened the Chamber of Secrets. He's a killer.
Minerva doesn't doubt the truth of the statements. After all, hadn't he always been obsessed with power? Hadn't he mentioned to her in passing that Muggleborns deserved to be trampled like the insects they were? The whole school is teeming with the rumours. At least, the students are, and the teachers are too busy covering up a girl's murder to notice it.
She hasn't asked him about it. He'll brush it away with that glint in his eye that will tell her she hasn't figured him out entirely, yet, even after years of trying. Then, he will kiss her and tell her he loves her, and she'll say it back, and fall into his trap all over again.
He loves her (does he?), but he loves the surge of power more. The Death Eaters, as he calls his followers, they can give him that feeling of supremacy, because she can't.
"You should be asleep," his voice says, and initially, she wonders if she is hearing it in her mind again. But she lifts her head and there he is, leaning again the doorframe, smiling down at her.
"You clearly knew that I was not," she replies, her tone ruder than she intended it to be. She had been trying to get him out of her head, and now she knew she would fail at the attempt.
He places a hand on his heart, acting mock-offended. He walks over to her, and leans down to kiss her. She pulls away.
He frowns in confusion, and perhaps a hint of...anger?
"Is it true?" she asks, trying to avoid his gaze. "Is it true that you opened the Chamber?"
He doesn't reply, but there is pride in his eyes. It is all she needs to know.
She doesn't speak to him, after that. She tries not to even think of him, until he begins to wage a War.
It doesn't take much convincing from Dumbledore for her to join the Order. She wants any excuse to hate him, and this is the perfect opportunity.
Every day she hears about the people he kills, and the ones that weren't lucky enough to die. She loses countless friends and numerous acquaintances. She contrasts the face she used to know, with the tousled dark hair and the gleaming smile, to the monster behind it.
He pays her a visit, one day, even makes her an offer. She refuses of course. She will not have that vile snake engraved on her body, nor will she believe in what it embodies.
He had been furious at her then, and she had seen a glimpse of the beast that she knew him to be.
But it had only lasted for a moment. Then he'd walked away without a word, and she does not see him again for years.
He makes sure she doesn't forget him, in the meantime. The attacks double in number, and she know she is to blame. It eats her up, but she doesn't say a word.
She helps the students, rallies them against the Carrows and provides any encouragement she thinks they need. She even fights some of the other Death Eaters, the newer additions to the group.
But she doesn't fight him, or even face him, directly. She isn't sure why, but she wants the Light side to win, and she doesn't trust his power over her. She wonders if he knows he still has some. Perhaps it is better if he doesn't know, she decides.
It is easier to detest him now, because he looks so different from before, but a part of her wishes, begs, to go back to the time when it wasn't raining curses and blood, when he wasn't consumed by his insatiable thirst for power.
Silly dreamer, she thinks, casting a healing spell over the wounded Parvati Patil. She uses a Mobilicorpus to send the unconscious girl to Poppy Pomfrey.
She hears his raspy voice announce the one hour that Harry Potter has to face him, and she trembles at how they have nearly lost. It is a risk she cannot take, and while she has enough faith in Harry…
Her train of thought is broken by the hand laid on her shoulder.
She doesn't scream when she turns to find the snake-like face close, too close, to her own.
"I've won," he whispers, and his smile sends chills down her spine.
"Not yet," she replies, without missing a beat.
He smirks again, and lets her go, but she still feels her skin burning where his hands held her.
An hour later, she watches as the emerald green spell hits him, and he collapses, turning into dust. The entire school erupts in celebration.
We won, some part of her brain registers, if faintly. She should be happy. Instead, she stares at the pile of dust long after everyone has left, lying innocuously amongst the aftermath of the destruction he has caused. She realises that he has won, after all. He has got what he wanted, pure chaos.
And she pictures his face, still as beautiful as when she first saw it, smile back at her.
Notes: Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Challenge
Position: Written for Beater 2 for the Kenmare Kestrels
Prompt: Mack the Knife by Bobby Darin
Optional Prompts: None
Word Count: 1203 + A/N
I was going for the theme of the prompt, which is apparently about a murderer, who initially doesn't seem to be one. Hopefully I got it across.