Hello everyone, and thank you so much for the reviews, favourites and follows so far! It is very heartening to know that even in a short amount of time it has become liked. This chapter was hoping to be written and put up by next week, but I was inspired, and so it got done early. Not a terribly bad thing, mind you.
Please let me know what you think, and if you find any mistakes (I feel as though I let a few slip through this time) and if there are any improvements that could be made. (I am aware that even after three years I tend to waver a bit from what I intended to write) So if you find an odd moment or something that just doesn't make sense, please let me know so i can fix it. I do want to improve it as much as I can, but I am also aware that if it is fiddled with too much it will lose it's raw, aliveness.
So please enjoy :)
Chapter Two: Shopping
Raddy sighed as she made her way down the main lane of Hogsmeade. The shoes she was wearing were biting into her toes, but no matter how she transfigured them they wouldn't fit right. Maybe she was just better without shoes anyway. But for the first visit she had to at least appear normal. She hugged her torso and noted the goose bumps on her arms. She hated that she needed to go shopping, but with only a borrowed dress to her name even she could see the need of the situation. Dumbledore strode beside her, silent and watchful.
They passed a few building fronts that she didn't pay attention to, she just kept her head ducked down and watched her poor feet crunch through the leaves. Dumbledore had managed to get permission from Dippet for her to go out on a shopping quest, on the condition that he attended her and paid for it. Dippet was quite content that he didn't need to pay for anything, and so granted the request happily. She had to say, she was starting to not like the Headmaster. She could see why Dumbledore was so serious and seemed to treat the older man like a child.
It was a few more minutes before Dumbledore touched her shoulder to grab her attention. She glanced up, and he pointed ahead of them to a shop front that had dresses and hats in the display window. She sighed and nodded, and he briefly mentioned something about being in a bookstore while she did what she needed to, and handed her a couple of coins. She pocketed them and set off, suddenly alone in a familiar alien place. Everything seemed to be almost deserted. There was hardly anyone walking about, though they didn't seem perturbed by the fact there was a war on, just a little concerned at the most. Obviously the war hadn't reached Hogsmeade just yet. She entered the clothes shop and the tinkle of the bell sounded in the empty shop. She looked around at the racks of clothing. Most were full of wizarding robes, but she spied a few that looked like normal clothing.
She browsed for a moment, and found several dresses to her liking, which looked identical to the one she was currently wearing. She mused that Madam Claire must also shop here, and smiled to herself as she fingered the material gently, the feel of new and the scent of crisp tingling at the edge of her senses. It had been so long since she had had something new to call hers. Everything recently had been borrowed or stolen, something that was just hers would be nice. There were many colours among the racks. Blues, purples, reds, yellows. She pulled several of her chosen dresses off the rack and made her way through the maze to the counter. She noted out of the corner of her eye that there was a shopkeeper hovering nearing the back of the shop, a look of disbelief in her eye. She was dressed in wizarding robes, but they were rather subdued and set off her bright red hair quite splendidly.
She placed the pile of dresses on the countertop and trailed a finger along the edge, musing at the smooth grain and polish of the wood. She avoided the gaze of the shopkeeper deliberately, getting a prickling feeling on the nape of her neck that her presence was both a wonderful occurrence and a startling interruption. All the colours she had chosen for herself were subdued as well; pastel colours of blue, red, yellow and lilac. There was a green in there as well, she spied. She looked up as the woman flitted over to her, standing in uncertainty behind the counter. Raddy noted she was young; not much older than herself. But the look in her eyes whispered of an ancient presence which must have seen much turmoil and destruction in its time. She was deathly pale, and her eyes startlingly bright green. Her lips were slightly parted in shock, and Raddy cocked her head at the pointed incisors sparkling white. Her eyes widened. She inhaled deeply, and the pungent scent of vanilla masking sickly-sweet decay assaulted her nose, chocking her. She couldn't help the sneeze that followed, and the woman across from her seemed uncertain of what to do with herself. There was a conviction in her eyes.
"Was that all today miss?" Her voice was carefully schooled into polite enquiry.
"Yes thank you." Raddy struggled to speak as another sneeze tore through her. The woman dutifully and stiffly served Raddy, while she sneezed yet again, struggling to stop the tickling feeling in her nostrils. Once her dresses had been bagged and paid for, Raddy straightened as much as she was able to and held a hand over her nose. "Do you sell cardigans?"
The woman nodded and flitted around the counter to a rack near to the back of the shop. "They're not very popular with the pureblood wizards and witches." She glanced sideways as Raddy approached, still uncertain of how to conduct herself. Torn between helping her customer as a dutiful shopkeeper and turning Raddy away in disgust.
"That's fine. I just need something to keep me warm." Painstakingly, they spent the next half an hour going through the rack together, the woman showing her cardigans and jumpers and Raddy turning each one away for one reason or another. They were both about to give up when she pulled out a small blue button-down with a weave pattern down the front. It was a man's cardigan, judging by the thickness of the weave, but it didn't itch to the touch and when Raddy tried it on it was slightly baggy and she had to roll the sleeves up twice to be able to see her fingers peeking through. She smiled up at the woman, and nodded. She sighed in relief.
"How much?" Raddy asked.
"Honestly, this is the most painful sale I've ever been through. Just take it." The woman started ushering her towards the counter, careful not to step too close.
Raddy nodded in agreement. "Likewise." She picked up her bag and went to turn around, but swivelled back to the woman at the last second. "Thanks for not killing me."
The woman blinked in shock, startled that a sworn enemy would even think of saying something like that. "Likewise."
Raddy smiled warmly. "My name is Pamela, but I prefer to be called Raddy."
She blinked again. "Samantha."
Raddy held out her hand hesitantly to shake, and it was a moment before Samantha reached out to do the same. They both flinched on contact, and let go a moment later. But that was better than either had achieved in their life considering what they would normally have done to each other given slightly different circumstances. "Thank you for helping me today. Can I drop by again sometime?" She thought it best to ask permission again. This was after all, Samantha's store. And if Samantha didn't want her back again, she would understand.
Samantha hesitated a moment, then inclined her head. "I would be glad of company, whatever form it came in."
Raddy nodded her head, and took that as her sign to leave, and exited back into the street. She paused outside the storefront and buttoned up her new cardigan before heading off in the direction of what looked to be a bookstore.
Raddy let herself back into the Heads' dorm quietly, not wishing to disturb Riddle if he was in. She didn't feel like tangling with him just yet. She had only been here a couple of days, but she still hadn't worked out how to approach him. Or even how to go about executing a plan. Or thinking and finalising a plan. So far she was still at a loss about how to go about her mission, and was not appreciating the lack of forward momentum. She was playing the part of ward very well though, considering all that was different was a time displacement. She truly was a victim of war, and being protected behind the walls of Hogwarts instead of defending them was a nice, placid change.
She carried her bags to her room, regretting now after climbing what seemed like thousands of staircases, that she hadn't allowed Dumbledore to shrink her new belongings so they would be easier for her to carry. It wasn't the amount that was a bother, it was the weight of the books, and she wondered what good her magic was if she didn't bloody use it for what it was good for. She let herself into her room and went about putting away her new things, listening out for Riddle should he turn up again after classes for the afternoon. So far she had neglected to even look at her timetable that had been given to her, but she would get around to it eventually. She needed to somehow get closer to Riddle, or figure out how to spend more time with him. The more time she invested in being around him, she might just find a way into that dark mind of his and unravel a secret or weakness—and then she might be able to form a plan to take him down. She scoffed and shook her head at herself as she hung her dresses up in the armoire. Yeah right like he had any weaknesses to exploit.
She paused a moment and thought about it. Maybe…maybe he did. No one had discovered them yet. No wait… wait… She hurriedly hung up the rest of the dresses and searched through the remaining couple of bags for the leather bound case that she had bought at the bookstore. She pulled it out once she had found it and sat at the desk, opening it and bringing a loose leaf of parchment onto the desktop. She opened the drawer next to her and pulled a quill and inkpot out—which she had found yesterday in a more thorough search of the room—and set to work. She scribbled all over the page non-stop, barely lifting the quill to even dip it in ink. When it got too dark, she paused only long enough to light a candle before continuing. When she ran out of room on the parchment she flustered around to find another blank one.
When she finally did stop in the wee hours of the morn, the candle wick was almost snuffed and her hand was both covered in ink and cramped into one position. She hissed as it groaned as she stretched it out, and looked over the papers strewn over her desk. She smiled softly at her work, and gathered all the papers together and slipped them into the leather case, stashing the case on the bookshelf. She stood and clicked her back, allowing her tired, stiff muscles some respite. She padded around the room to get some feeling back into her legs as her mind buzzed.
She had written down everything she knew. Everything Dumbledore had told her in their brief meetings, about Tom Riddle, about the dark arts, about horcruxes. Everything she knew by proxy of being a student attending school with Harry Potter, who seemed to attract Voldemort at every step of the way. Harry had been connected to Voldemort by some way; his mother had sacrificed herself to save her son. Everyone knew the story… but what about how Harry—as an infant—had been able to stop the Dark Lord, the most dangerous, dark wizard of their time. The answer lay within his mother. She knew a mother would do anything and everything to protect her young, her children. Raddy's mother had done just that for her, she understood the bond between a mother and child. She had a relationship with her parents. Neither Voldemort nor Harry had that relationship, neither had felt a mother's love. Voldemort had been left in an orphanage, and Harry had been left at his aunt and uncle's, which was as good as.
The huge difference was that in that moment of Lily Potter sacrificing herself for Harry, she had given her life, her love, her soul to save him. She had given everything selflessly, wholesome and pure. This manifestation of her love for Harry had saved him, because Voldemort hadn't understood it. Couldn't touch that kind of magic.
Raddy padded over to the door and shut it completely, before head over to the bathroom to get ready for bed. She ran a bath and sank into the warmth, allowing it to wash over her and ease the aches. She closed her eyes and chased her thoughts around, piecing the parts together. Voldemort couldn't touch that kind of magic in fifty years, which meant he probably couldn't touch it now. Didn't understand, didn't want it. Which was ironic, because it was the strongest kind. He had split his soul into seven, not knowing how broken that made him, where he thought it would make him stronger. Harry had something Riddle didn't, and Raddy was darned if she would let it stump her now, that she was getting somewhere.
She opened her eyes and stared at the pattern on the ceiling. Intricate and complicated, like everything about her mission. She couldn't puzzle Riddle out. Dumbledore had told her that he was very distant, cold, and treated his supposed 'friends' like minions. He treated them like his subordinates even at a young age. He fooled all the teachers into thinking he was a perfect, model student, and often held him up as an example of a good student of his peers. All the girls wanted to date him—from what she had gathered in a brief stroll around the halls the previous morning—and all the boys either wanted to be him, or feared him. He was formidable force. There was no friendship without reason. Everyone and everything was a means to an end. There was no relationship he had…just because. Just for the sake of being a human being. Of giving in to basic, human instinct. To form friendships, trust other people, and be trusted.
Maybe that was what she had to do for now before…ending him. Maybe right now the best she could do, to figure him out and take him down, was to be his friend. She shuddered at the thought. But it made perfect sense really…she was a ward of the school, there was no real ulterior motive to forming a friendship with him, other than to prevent loneliness from taking over. And that was the difference between Harry and Tom Riddle. Where Riddle had used his beginnings to put up walls and keep people out, using them as pawns in his game, Harry had used his beginnings to crave friendship, companionship and love. He had stayed open and trusted without fear, loved his friends fiercely and with unfailing loyalty. Perhaps that was what she had to do if she was to get Riddle to show a weakness. She had to show him how to be a friend, how to be open and then she would be able to use whatever she found out to her advantage, to kill him.
Raddy sighed. Despite having reached a consensus with herself, she still felt as lost as when she arrived. She finished with her bath and drained the water, towelled off and headed to bed. She pulled and nightgown from her armoire and stepped into it. She huffed as the hem fell around her ankles, and picked her wand up and quickly adjusted the length until it was comfortably just below her knees. At least now she wasn't scared of tripping herself up on her own nightgown. She pulled back the covers of the duvet and slunk in between the sheets, sighing into the mattress and falling easily into sleep.
Thank you very much for reading to the end! It is very appreciated. Please, again, if you find inconsistencies, grammar/spelling mistakes, a confusing moment, (a good moment even), please let me know :)
Have a good rest of your day, enjoy yourselves, and don't forget to rest in between working/studying hard. God bless and see you at the next chapter.
