Task: Write about a character asking questions (out of worry, nervousness, guilt - anything) to a mirror or any reflective surface. Think of it like when someone might be questioning aspects of their life, and they find themselves looking in a mirror whilst questioning.
Gringotts Prompt Bank;
Nouns; Affection, allure, appeal, assignment, bathroom, boy, blonde, cheek, charm, class, eyes, face
Names; Castor (one of the divine twins), Magnus (means great), Guinevere (white ghost), Meliae (Nymphs of honey the ash tree), Aetna (goddess of the volcanic Mount Etna), Myles (king of Latonia)
Secret Diary of a Call Girl; "I couldn't bare it if my parent's found out.", (word) Professor),"You knew my name before I told you.", (word) pleasure, "I'm unpredictable like that." , "If you ask them first, ninety percent of the time they'll say no.", (word) possessive, "You know me, I never play by the rules."
Miranda; 3. (plot/action) Woman being mistaken for a man, (word) elegant, (word) Impress, (word) antisocial, (word) sensible, (dialogue) "Someone please marry my daughter. I'm not asking for money I'm literally giving her away.", (word) busty, (word) shock
Various prompts (Hollywood); "I've always had a thing for blondes."
Quotes, 100 Great Literature Prompts; "We need never be ashamed of our tears." – Charles Dickens, Great Expectations, "I believe there are monsters born in the world to human parents." – John Steinbeck, East of Eden
First year
"Alphard Black."
"Slytherin!"
"Olive Hornby."
"Ravenclaw!"
"Radagast Lestrange."
"Slytherin."
"Tessie Prewett."
"Gryffindor!"
"Alexander Zabini."
"Hufflepuff."
"Tom Riddle." The witch called out, her eyes flickering up from the parchment. A tall boy strode forward, full of confidence, sitting on the stool in an elegant fashion. As the hat was lowered onto the boy's head, he locked eyes with a blonde girl in the crowd; surprising himself and making the hat chuckle.
"Slytherin!"
The far table cheered as the boy walked over, a grin spreading over his features, meanwhile the next name was being read.
"Alistair Montgomery."
"Hufflepuff!"
As student after student was called, the little girl with whom Tom had made eye contact made a point of not looking over to the Slytherin table. It was if she could feel someone watching her.
"Do you know who she is?" Tom asked, turning to another first year.
"Who?" The boy asked, and Tom pointed to her in the crowd of students that were left. "Don't know."
"Rule number one," An older Slytherin commented, leaning on the boy; "If they aren't in Slytherin, they aren't worth it."
"I'll keep that in mind." Tom mused, offering his hand. "Tom Riddle."
"Castor Burke." Castor gave the book a solid handshake before gesturing to a girl with long black hair and almost silver eyes.
"You sister?" Tom asked.
Castor grinned wickedly, "That's my twin brother, Pollux." Tom kept his composure, making a mental note that she was a he; regardless of the overly feminine features. "Gets mistaken for a girl all the time, it's the hair." Tom suspected that was only a part of it.
"Did you figure out who that girl is?" The first year asked, butting in.
"No, but the rest of them don't matter."
"Good attitude," The boy extending his hand, eagerly awaiting a handshake "I'm Magnus Travers," Once satisfied, he squared himself in his seat; pointing at a little girl with bright red hair, a black flower in her hair, he sneered. "My cousin, Aetina Weasley. Her older brother Myles is Head Boy."
"Pleasure."
"Guinevere Fawley." The witch called out, shifting Tom's attention away from his housemates. The name belonged to blond girl, whose hair reminded of the ends of a hot flame. Her eyes, he recalled, were brown; deep and soul consuming. As she walked to the stool, she sat nervously, gripping the edges of the seat as the hat was placed upon her lap.
"Interesting." The hat spoke, humming and hawing.
"What's it doing?" Tom asked his table.
The voice that replied was surprisingly deep, "She's probably a hatstall." Pollux explained, "It means the hat doesn't know which house to put her in."
"Should be ours." Castor grumbled, refusing to look. "Fawley's have always been in Slytherin."
"Maybe she's not pureblood." Pollux offered, and Tom was aware of the distrain attached to the idea.
"It has been 2 minutes." Tom commented, looking at another students watch. "Does that mean anything?"
"Not especially." Magnus stated, "My older sister, Meliae, was a hatstall. She said the house wanted to put her in Ravenclaw or Slytherin."
"Which house did it place her in?"
"Slytherin of course," Pollux sniffed, "Travers are always in Slytherin."
"Meliae would have thrown a fit if she was placed with those barmey blue bastards." Magnus huffed, growing bored of watching the hat deliberate.
"Does it happen often?" Tom inquired, narrowing his eyes to see the girl was moving her lips as the hat talked.
"Almost never." Castor admitted. "I find that the half bloods and mudbloods are more likely to be hatstalls than us."
"Not true." A girl spoke up, lowering her book. "A hatstall has to take longer than 5 minutes. Our Head of House was almost put into Ravenclaw, and he is a pureblood."
"Whatever, Greengrass," Pollux hissed, "-those weren't ever hatstalls."
5 minutes, Tom thought, glancing at the different tables. Hufflepuff seemed ready to accept her at the drop of a hat, Ravenclaw was willfully not paying attention, and Gryffindor was chanting their house name over and over – like it would sway the decision.
"Ravenclaw!" The hat finally pronounced, making Castor and Pollux jerk up in surprise, while the rest of the Slytherin table booed.
"One of the Sacred Twenty Eight can't be put into Ravenclaw!" Castor howled.
Tom, however, watched the girl get down off the stool and walk calmly to the table. She never looked back, and for the moment –was promptly forgotten.
Second year
Sitting in the front row, Tom was listening as Magnus was gazing harshly at a Hufflepuff girl behind him. "You'd think if her parents can afford to send their child to Hogwarts, they could buy them better robes. Look at her," Magnus sneered, tapping his friend on the shoulder, "It just screams, 'Someone please marry my daughter. I'm not asking for money – I'm literally giving her away.'"
The girl's head snapped up from her potions book and glared at the boy. "If you were trying to impress your friend by that comment," she retorted, "-he wasn't listening."
"How dare you-
"I have more money than your entire family, Travers." She corrected him, fixing a ringlet. "Be sensible, and try to have more pride."
"I think you were out maneuvered, Magnus." Tom said, amused.
"I liked her better when she was antisocial." Magnus muttered, turning to face forward as Slughorn cleared his throat.
"Take your seats now, if you please." Slughorn announced, and everyone sank into similar seats as last year. The door creaked open, causing everyone to turn while Slughorn's eyes lit up. "Late, Miss Fawley? Didn't I say that taking Transfiguration would achieve that end?"
"I won't be late again Professor." Guinevere replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and taking a seat in the back. "Yes well, five points from Ravenclaw nonetheless – though I am sure you will have no trouble making it up." Tom saw her wince as the students jeered, and he smiled at the spectacle – not expecting her to look up when she did. "Face front Tom, you'll never learn how to make a decent potion facing the back." Slughorn corrected him, and Tom internalized the emotions that flooded through his mind as he shifted in his chair. "Now, I have prepared a list of partners for the year; and after I am finished calling them out you can move to your new spots.," The man cleared this throat and put on his glasses, holding up a piece of parchment, "Prewett and Weasley,"
"Hornby and Lestrange."
As he went on, people started to get excited – or anxious.
"Black and Zabini"
"Montgomery and Travers."
Magnus groaned loudly, "I couldn't bare it if my parent's found out."
"Riddle and Fawley."
"Just grin and bare it." Tom replied as Magnus slipped away – Guinevere hesitantly taking the spot to his right.
"Let's get to work, Tom." Was the only greeting she offered, flipping open her potions book.
"You knew my name before I told you." He blurted, catching himself at the end.
"It's not that big a school." She replied softly.
"Usually one waits to be introduced." He replied indignantly, and the girl sighed, but faced him with a pleasant enough expression; waiting. "I'm Tom Riddle, and you are?"
"Guinevere Fawley." She replied, "Pleasure."
"Now then, have you ever made Sleeping Draught before?" Tom asked, flipping to the page for the assignment."
"Almost, have you?"
"Yes." She stared at him for a moment, shock not obvious in her expression, rather she was taking in the calm, cool and calculating demeanor of her new potions partner. He caught her watching him and shrugged, "I'm unpredictable like that."
They worked in silence for the rest of the day, days turning to weeks, weeks turning to months. He didn't expect months to turn into years, nor the strange sense of affection he experienced at the sight of her.
Fifth Year
"Quite the shock, isn't it Tom?" Castor grinned, tapping the shiny new badge.
"Hardly," Pollux drawled, turning a page in his book, "Tom was obviously going to be a prefect."
"Who's with you?" Lestrange asked, leaning against the door of the compartment. "Not Travers, that's for such." The boy grinned, blocking a punch from Magnus as he shuffled into the compartment.
"I think it was Alphard Black." Tom announced, holding a smug grin on his face, leaning away from his friend to let him pass easily.
"I got the scoop on the other prefects," Avery announced, though Tom already knew the information. "Hornby and Fawley for Ravenclaw, Montgomery and Zabini for Hufflepuff, and Prewett and Weasley for Gryffindor."
"I didn't know you cared so much about the Prefects," Tom stated, and Avery blushed. "Or have you still not gotten over your fascination with Tessie Prewett."
"She is not nearly busty enough to hold my attention." Avery retorted, "I like em-"
He stopped as a familiar face appeared in the doorway. "I saw Fawley, you're looking marvelous, delicious even. I've always had a thing for blondes." He grinned wickedly at her blank expression, "Please take your clothes off." Tom shot the boy a dark look, and Avery recanted immediately. "It was just a joke."
Ignoring him, Guinevere motioned to Tom. "Meeting will be starting soon."
"I'll walk with you," He offered, standing to get his robes when a short, black haired girl knocked into Guinevere, pushing her through the doorway and closer to Tom as a result. The girl was a fourth year, and well enough known in the school.
"I told you to be careful Myrtle!" A small boy called.
"Are you alright, Guinevere?" Tom whispered, but his words were drowned out by the conversations of his friends.
"That's what you get for letting undesirables into the school." Lestrange said loudly.
"How dare she touch one of us." Pollux growled angrily.
"Filthy mudblood." Avery hissed.
"They ought to be exterminated." Magnus barked, standing up.
"Disgusting garbage," Castor spat.
Slytherin crowd never let anyone forget it. It made daily interactions with other classmates awkward, if not downright unbearable when she was in the room. Olivia had taken to teasing her, as if to say – we don't accept her either.
Guinevere stepped back from the compartment, from Tom, and moved swiftly away, her face never revealing the horror she felt at hearing that word – feeling his eyes on her.
"How is it that you haven't shagged her yet?" Castor asked Tom, smirking at him. "Been your potions partner for what, three years now?"
"Unlike you, Castor, I am a gentleman." Tom replied, enjoying the banter; though he had heard it before.
"Well if you don't get a move on, someone else will. She's not a bad looking girl, even if she is a Ravenclaw." Castor mused, "And you know the rule."
"What rule would that be?" Tom indulged him, watching him carefully.
"If you ask them first, ninety percent of the time they'll say no." Pollux answered instead, not looking up from his page again.
"You can't possible thinking Tom would be able to convince her to come into him, do you?" Magnus barked, "That's barmy."
Tom couldn't feeling insulted at that statement. He could make anyone do anything he wanted them to. Nothing and no one could resist him. He also was hesitant to admit to himself that he felt at all possessive about Guinevere; they had a special kind of kinship, yet she always took great pains to avoid him. Being a Prefect this year would change that, he would make sure of it. "You know me, I never play by the rules." Slipping out of the compartment, he headed for the Prefect's meeting.
/
Staring at the mirror, she gripped the sides of sink; air unable to leave her lungs. She looked ashen white, her eyes were filled with tears. Where do I go from here? she asked her reflection silently. What am I to do?
Myrtle was dead.
It was not just a shock to the school, but to her house. Myrtle was only a year younger. A student in her charge. A fellow Ravenclaw who had been killed. How was she supposed to be an effective Prefect after this tragedy? Olivia was in shock, she hasn't spoken a word in the two days since it had happened; though she sometimes muttered at her own reflection.
But Guinevere couldn't get Tom's face out of her head. The look in his eyes, or more accurately; the lack of one. She had always been wary of the boy; he was too smooth and charismatic, always appearing at the right time or place and never letting his emotions really show.
But she had never been afraid of him before.
Most of the girls thought he had devilish appeal; tall, dark, had allure and was completely unobtainable. A deadly combination. He could charm the pants off a snake if he wanted to, most of the teachers were wrapped around his little finger.
"How dangerous is he?" She finally uttered the question buzzing around her mind for the last three years. But her reflection was silent. "He's a young man with a mean streak, but you'd be able to fill the cells of Askaban with the boys of Slytherin if that was an indicator." She nodded at her reflection, standing up straighter. "He's just a boy like any other."
Gathering her things, she dried her eyes and finally emerged.
"You've been avoiding me." Tom purred, but she didn't jump when she saw him outside the girl's bathroom, casually leaning against the wall; the Prefect's badge shining in the light. No doubt he saw the puffy skin and red around her eyes.
"I was in the bathroom." She replied coolly, heading away from him.
"You've been crying." He observed, and she nodded, noting how the air of his confidence was different; he didn't seem perturbed at all. "We need never be afraid of our tears." Tom offered, meeting her pace. "Did you know her?"
"A little." Guinevere replied, dropping her eyes.
He touched her, and she jumped; he had never touched her before, and it was electrifying. "You are safe, Guinevere, they caught the culprit." Meeting his eyes, Guin found him smiling. "You were always safe with me."
"Do you believe in monsters Tom?" She asked, and he startled visibly for a moment.
"Not particularly, no."
"I believe there are monsters born in the world to human parents." She whispered, aware of his hand moving to her face, something akin to pleasure gracing his features.
"I completely agree." He whispered back, stepping back as footsteps sounded nearbye. Her heart was beating in her ears while her mind was screaming so loudly she thought her head might burst. "Shall we walk together? We are both in the Slugclub after all." She felt her self nod.
As they walked, she caught sight of her reflection in the glass of an obliging window pane, reading the sorrow in her eyes; The only lies for which we are truly punished are those we tell ourselves.