I'm sending out my sincerest apologies for having taken forever to post this. I had to head back to school, and, honest be told, I was on one of the largest writer's block I've ever had on this story. It was so hard to figure out to where to go from there. But, I've finally got it so there will now be weekly updates! Hooray! I forgot my disclaimer last time too, but I don't own any of J.K. Rowling's characters or ideas. However, I do own the characters that I make up, so no stealing! Also, thanks so much to the people who have put me on their alerts already! I'm so grateful that people are taking an interest in this story. Please feel free to send me a review or anything really. I love feedback and ideas to make a story better. Thank you so much! Enjoy!
You can dance-every dance with the guy
Who gives you the eye, let him hold you tight
You can smile-every smile for the man
Who held your hand neath the pale moon light
But don't forget who's takin' you home
And in whose arms you're gonna be
So darlin' save the last dance for me
A rich alto, female voice, accompanied by a swirling piano and excitable trumpet player filled the Three Broomsticks on a crisp, autumn day. The voice was coming from a particularly attractive girl, who looked about sixteen, standing by the microphone on the mini stage off in the corner of the pub. Her long hair, which, to people who knew her, was normally in a braid down her back, was piled up on top of her head, a few stare curls escaping free of the messy bun. She wore a body hugging wrap that dress that quite a few women would be tittering about how inappropriate it was for a girl her age afterward. It was a stunning effect, but her voice was what seemed to hold almost everyone in the pub captivated.
Oh I know that the music's fine
Like sparklin' wine, go and have your fun
Laugh and sing, but while we're apart
Don't give your heart to anyone
But don't forget who's takin' you home
And in whose arms you're gonna be
So darlin' save the last dance for me
The door in the bar opened briefly, cold air spilling in and chilling some of the people sitting at tables closer to the door. A boy with dark, almost black hair, slipped silently into the Three Broomsticks, grabbing a seat at a stool at the bar. The girl, who had noticed the boy's entrance, continued to sing; however, she made sure to flash him a quick smile.
Baby don't you know I love you so
Can't you feel it when we touch
I will never never let you go
I love you oh so much
Grinning, she took the microphone off the stand, and proceeded to walk off the stage and around the tables.
You can dance, go and carry on
Till the night is gone
And it's time to go
If he asks if you're all alone
Can he walk you home, you must tell him no
'Cause don't forget who's taking you home
And in whose arms you're gonna be
So darling, save the last dance for me
She worked herself around the tables strategically, so that she ended up right by the bar stools. She gave the boy another smile and a wink. "Hey you," she whispered quietly out of the mike in a brief break between the words. The boy returned her smile this time. "You shouldn't be focusing on me, Sara," he whispered back. The girl just smiled, and went back to singing and dancing around the tables. The boy shook his head at her sass as she made her way back to the stage
'Cause don't forget who's taking you home
And in whose arms you're gonna be
So darling, save the last dance for me
Save the last dance for me
The very last dance
For me!
Her voice hit the last note with the precision of someone who's been singing for a while. As the note echoed through the bar, applause burst out among the tables, and various calls for an encore started to rise up.
"Thank you for coming tonight everyone! I'll be back next week, as always." Everyone laughed. The girl smiled at the crowd and continued. "Tip bucket is over by the counter, feel free to put in some spare Knuts or Sickles into it! Thank you all! Have a good night!" A good natured moan went up among a few, followed by more cheers, as Sara made her way over to the bar stools.
"You were good tonight," the boy sitting on the stool observed. Sara playfully whacked him.
"I was more then just good! But, what more should I expect to get from a tone deaf?" She laughed, and took up a stool next to the boy. "Hey! Can I get a butterbeer on the house, Rosmerta?"
The owner, who was all the way on the other side of the bar, glanced over in Sara's direction and laughed. "Well, I guess I can spare a butterbeer for that stellar performance." Rosmerta grabbed a butterbeer off one of the shelves and hurried over to give it to the singer. Sara gave her a grateful smile.
"Thanks, Rosmerta."
"Anytime, love. Now you don't stay out to late or Dumbledore'll have my head!"
Sara laughed. "Of course. Wouldn't want to get you in trouble, would we?" And with that, she popped open her butterbeer and downed some of its contents. Having quenched her thirst at the moment, she turned to the boy sitting next to her. "So, what's up, Tom?"
Tom, who was also cradling a butterbeer, turned to his stool to face Sara. "Nothing much. Came to pick you up. Didn't think you should walk back by yourself." He gave her a steadying look as if to dare her to tell him he didn't need to walk her back.
Typical Tom, she thought. "Thank you. I'm glad you're thinking of me." She gave him an innocent smile, and took a swig of her drink.
Tom looked stunned for a minute that she wasn't putting up a fight on the matter, like she normally would. Though she didn't admit it to him, she was enjoying his recent overprotective nature. It was kind of cute and it made her feel like something special. He quickly recovered, also took a drink of his butterbeer, and glanced at his watch.
"Come on, we better get going. It's getting late."
Sara made a face. "It's not that late! And my fans!"
She gestured to a group of people who were attempting to catch her attention and motion for her to join them at their table. Tom shook his head.
"You know the rules Headmaster Dippet set for you having this gig. Come on."
Sara continued to pout for a minute, but finished her butterbeer. "Ever the prefect. At least give me a minute to talk to Gary." And, before Tom could protest Sara jumped off the stool and scurried back to the small corner stage.
Gary was on the stage, packing up his trumpet into its case, taking care to clean the instrument.
"Gary, what did you need to ask me?" Sara asked as she approached the guy. Startled, having been so absorbed in his packing (He really loved that trumpet, she thought fondly.), Gary straightened suddenly and reddened. His dirty blonde hair flopped in his face and he hurriedly shoved it away.
Two years older than her and a recent graduate of Hogwarts, Sara had found Gary through a friend, and there was no better trumpet player to help her with this gig. She was often surprised they had never really talked when they were at school together. Gary cleared this throat.
"Me and Rich were going to go to the Weird Sisters concert. You know the one next Saturday? Rich, he knows one of the stage managers and he got tickets. Wanna come?"
Sara stood there, flabbergast. The concert was sold out! It had been for weeks! But, Rich had gotten tickets?!
"Wha…what? Really? Did he really?"
Gary laughed at her growing eyes. "Yes, really. So do you wanna come?"
Sara could barely contain a squeal. "Do I wanna come? Of course I do! Thank you so much!"
Without thinking, Sara threw her arms around Gary and buried her face into his chest. "Thank you, thank you!" she mumbled into his chest.
"You're welcome," Gary whispered into her hair. "But, you better be heading back. My head might be taken off soon by your friend over there."
Sara released Gary to see Tom glaring at the two as they embraced.
"Meet you in front of here at 7, next Saturday," he whispered and gave her waist a squeeze. Grabbing his jacket and his trumpet case, Gary made his way through the crowd and out the front door.
Sara watched as he made his way out of the Three Broomsticks. Without meaning to, she turned her head a fraction of an inch, so she could see Tom's reaction. His face was etched with a dark scowl that she had sometimes seen him give to the kids he often hung out with. It was one of those looks that, if looks could kill, Sara would have been dead, brought back to life, and killed again. Looking away, an inadvertent shiver ran through her spine, and, like magic, Tom was at her side with her coat. His face was still angry, but not nearly as much as it had been a minute ago.
"What did he need?" Tom asked Sara as she slipped her slim arms into the jacket.
Taking a new, intense interest in the buttons on her jacket, Sara weighed her response. "Nothing really. He and Rich are going to the Weird Sisters concert next week and they wanted to know if I wanted to come. It's like…a band bonding activity."
Skepticism wrinkled Tom's nose, and Sara knew that her excuse had sounded lame. She knew that Gary was interested in her, and truth be told, she was kind of interested in him too. He was really sweet, and incredibly funny. She was, at points, even considering going out with him. If he asked.
Sara sighed and pushed open the door to exit the bar. White diamonds sprinkled across the inky black canvas of the sky. Sara pulled her jacket closer around her shoulders. The loss of the warmth of the bar was making her acutely aware of her clothing or lack of.
An extra weight dropped itself onto her shoulders. Tom's coat had joined hers to protect her from the autumn chill. Sara frowned.
"Tom, I don't need this," she insisted, struggling to remove the heavy extra layer. Tom shook his head and pace his hands on her shoulder, to stop her struggling and so she couldn't take the jacket off.
"You're cold and I'll be fine. Don't worry alright?" A gentle smile lit his face, a smile that was so different from the ones she saw him give to other people. Still slightly disgruntled but knowing that he wasn't going to give in, Sara kept the extra jacket on her shoulders. Both walked in amicable silence the rest of the way back to the castle.
Quietly, the two slipped into the back entrance of the castle and headed down the halls. Tom, ever the gentleman, insisted on walking Sara to the staircase that lead to the Ravenclaw dormitory, even though it was out of his way.
"Here," Sara stripped off Tom's jacket and held it out for him to take. He shook his head.
"Keep it for now. I'll get it back from you later."
Sara made an annoyed noise in the back of her throat. "Thomas Riddle, take your damn jacket back this minute!"
He couldn't help but grin at her tone of voice. "Yes, ma'am!" he said with a dutiful salute and took the jacket from her outstretched hand. "Night, Sara," and he leaned over to give her a brief kiss on the cheek. "Pleasant dreams."
"Night," she whispered back and made her way down the staircase, enough so that Tom could no longer see her. After slowly counting to three in her head, Sara ran back up the stairs and watched Tom's retreating back go down the hall.
"Sleep well," she whispered softly, so that Tom couldn't hear. Only when he turned the corner did Sara turn and head down the staircase. The eagle head knocker stood gravely on the door. Sara yawned. "Riddle?"
The eagle opened its beak and spoke, "Name something that can eat its fill, but will never quench its thirst without dying."
Sara paused and considered. "Do chemicals count for eating?" The knocker said nothing, which meant yes as the Ravenclaws had figured out. "Can it be fire?"
She swore the knocker smiled. "Well thought out for being so tired."
Sara smiled at the knocker. "Thanks," and the door swung open.
Finally realizing how tired she was and how late it was getting, she trudged her way through the common room and up to the girls' dormitory. There, she wiped her face and changed out of the scandalous dress and changed into one of her father's old oversized button-up shirts. It was very comfy and smelled of her father and home. Home, she thought with worry and longing. God, I haven't been keeping up with what's going on in the front. Have they been bombing London? Oh, God, what if they have been bombing? I haven't heard from Mom for a while. I need to send her a letter tomorrow. I can't lose her too; she thought desperately and hugged her father's shirt even closer. Stupid, not keeping in touch with Mom, being so wrapped up in studies. Sara mentally whacked herself. She's fine, stop worrying. Go to bed.
Climbing into bed, she shivered for a minute in the cold air of the dorm. As she pulled the bed covers over her, Sara found herself wishing for Tom's jacket.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Tom slipped his way into the dungeon with the password (Dragon's Heart) and made his way into the large common room. A couple of people knew, mostly his followers, were playing a game of Muggle poker with a twist. The loser of every hand had a curse put on them and could only have the curse removed if they won a hand.
"Come a hand with us, Voldemort," called a seventh year boy, who seemed to be one winning. There were no visible marks on him, unlike the girl to his right, whose face was riddled with purple pimples.
"Not tonight, Mark. I'm tired. Have fun though."
The pimple girl flashed him a smile, which Tom returned with a blinding, charismatic smile. He could literary see her heart skip a beat, so much so that she started bleeding her cards. Mark glanced nonchalantly at her now viewable cards.
Tom snickered and made his way up to the boys' dormitory. There, he stripped off his clothes and went to go take a shower. The warm water helped him relax and catch up with his thoughts from the evening.
He didn't like how that Gary character had been looking at Sara. What gave him that right?
"Calm down," he murmured to his head. "You aren't allowed to control who she hangs out with." But, he wasn't sure if he would be able to restrain himself if she started going out with Gary. It had always been that way.
Sara, he knew, was one of the most attractive girls in the school. She even had seventh years declaring their love for her. It was hard for Tom to control himself around her boyfriends. When he had released the basilisk, he had tired to kill one of her boyfriend's that had been abusive to Sara. He hadn't succeeded in killing the boy with the basilisk, so he made sure that poison was slipped into the boy's drink at St. Mungo's. Sara had been so miserable with that boy; he had been so cruel to her, that he deserved it. Tom wouldn't stand for anyone hurting Sara.
Sighing, he stepped out of the shower and dried off. Forgoing a shirt, and throwing on only a pair of pants, Tom laid down in bed. As he slowly drifted off, Tom briefly wondered if Sara was seriously considering going out with Gary.
