Wandlore Wordsmiths & Betas Rare Pairs One-Shot Writing Competition
Entry: Pansy's Tiara (Number 9)
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Rating: M
Genre: Drama/Mystery/Romance/Seventh Year AU
Pairing: It's a secret !
Trigger Warnings: Dark, Slavery, Talk of Torture, Adult Themes
Disclaimer: All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. None of the Author's represented here are profiting from these stories.
Pansy's Tiara
The face she had become obsessed with over the past several months, had compromised everything for, had questioned her beliefs for, was now contorted with pure rage and directed solely at her. She had wanted his attention, had sought it out and connived ways upon which he would notice her, as all the other boys in her year so easily did.
But this was not a boy.
This wizard was powerful; beyond any power that even a Seventh Year should be capable of wielding. Even with the added aid of the slave bond.
Pansy had been spellbound by that power, but now, she was frightened.
"You wore my diadem, didn't you?" The question came out in a sneer that made her recoil. His voice was low and dangerous. She cowered on her knees before him, barely aware of their slaves watching silently on the sidelines. If she'd had any control, she would have at least sent Harry away. This was humiliating.
Her first response would have been to ask how he knew. It was the logical question. But it was also a silly one. Pansy had worn the tiara and now she couldn't plead stupidity. He could tell she'd worn it because she had changed and though she tried to conceal it, knew it would be wise to, there was nothing Tom Riddle didn't take notice of.
She'd wanted it, had spent many nights dreaming of ways to get him to notice her.
She certainly had it and now. She knew what it was like to have the full attention of Tom Marvolo Riddle focused squarely on her.
000
Pansy Parkinson navigated through the halls of Hogwarts in her uniform, which she had charmed to fit snugly to her figure. She proudly displayed her new badge jauntily on her jumper for all to see. She swept her long bangs behind her ear and cast a sideways glance at Draco, Blaise, and Theo who were perched loftily against the corridor but stood to attention when she passed by.
She smirked.
Oh, this will be a fun year. She had thought Sixth was the best so far, but they were only getting better and better, and this would be her crowning year at Hogwarts.
"Congrats on making Head Girl," Millicent shouted out in passing.
"Thanks Millie," Pansy called over her shoulder.
The sound of heels clicking down the marble floor and quickly catching up to her signaled the arrival of her best friend.
"Olive," she greeted with a sideways smile, just before her friend fell into step beside her. "How was the rest of your summer?"
"Lovely, Pans." Olive threw her dark blond hair over her shoulder in a move Pansy knew made the guys swoon. "Though I wish your parents wouldn't have insisted on taking you to France for the rest of it. You missed out on so many parties!"
Pansy wrinkled her nose in disgust. Her blasted parents had thrown a wrench in her plans, insisting they stay at their villa for half of the break. She knew they had ulterior motives, finding Pansy a match chiefly among them. "Don't fret Olive, we'll make up for it this year."
"Oh, think of all the parties we can throw in the Heads Common room!"
Pansy scoffed at that, absently thrusting her books in Harry's hands, only just remembering her shadowing slave. "I doubt Tom Riddle would allow that, unfortunately." Pansy saw the annoyance flash through Olive's eyes. "But I'll work on it. You never know, he may come around."
"Well, you'll have to invite me up regularly anyway; we have to discuss the Founder's Ball! It will be the best Hogwarts has ever seen."
"It certainly will."
They came to a stop before a portrait of knights slaying a dragon. "You know," Olive started, looking thoughtful. "Tom Riddle would actually be kind of good-looking, if he had any sort of personality to speak of. And I don't mean simply charming the teachers."
Pansy nodded before breaking off with her friend and entering into the Head's Common Room. Her friend's words echoed in her head like a nagging Remembrall.
000
It turned out, Olive was right.
Tom could have ruled the school, not just the classroom, had he possessed any sort of personality at all.
He had enough charm when it came to the teachers, but back in their common room, he barely paid her any mind. Pansy was not used to that. Usually at the very least, she amused the boys of her age. Yet Tom did not bother with her unless it was to put her down.
So they fell into a routine. She would flounce around in her tightly altered uniform, trying in vain to get some reaction from the odd boy, and he would pay her no heed unless it was to throw an insult at her.
She sat lounging on a green divan in their common room leafing through the newest issue of Witch Weekly. All her friends were at the Quidditch Pitch but Pansy had stayed away as she couldn't stand the sport. Glancing over to where Tom sat perched behind a pile of books, his Mudblood handing him the next without him even needing to ask, Pansy thought even Quidditch was better than being here.
"Ugh, Tom," she whined. "Can't you send your blasted Mudblood away? She creeps me out, royally! Her eyes are so…alert. It's bloody off-putting. And that bushy hair, can't you put a softening charm on it or something?"
"Slaves don't need softening charms, Parkinson. Surely a Pureblood Princess like yourself would be knowledgeable in the ways of the Select." Tom closed his book and looked his Mudblood's way as if considering. "As for her eyes, well I'm sorry if even my Mudblood slave harbors more intelligence than you do."
Used to his disdain by now, Pansy remarked in a detached sort of way, "Tom, honestly, for a wizard as smart as you allegedly are, you'd think you'd remember that I'm Head Girl with you, and therefore, your equal. Despite whether or not you think my family bought the position."
Tom looked up from his new book, in one of those rare moments he actually pierced her with the intensity of his gaze. It was at these times Pansy noticed her breath speed up and her heart flutter, but it was an odd notion and easily forgotten. "Parkinson, you could never be my equal."
Pansy met his gaze, for a moment lost in the dark and depthless blue of it. So different from the gray eyes she was used to in Draco. There was something about Tom's that seemed to have a magnetic pull.
Shaking herself, Pansy rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Tom."
000
He had mentioned before how useless she was in helping with any of their shared duties, chief among them setting the prefect patrols. Usually, she wouldn't rise to the insult, but this time, she wanted to show him she wasn't completely useless. And the Founder's Ball was her baby. If there was any reason to dedicate her time to something, this was it.
She went to his room in search of him, but of course he wasn't there; he hardly ever was. Only his wretched Mudblood, with her eyes downcast and trained on the floor was there. With an annoyed snort, Pansy turned to leave. She stopped herself as something sparkled and caught her eye.
Whirling around, she headed towards his bedpost, where something lay hanging from the black, ornately carved headboard.
The object that had caught her eye was a tiara of sorts. Wrought in a lovely silver, it was encrusted with gleaming multi-faceted gems that caught the light just so. Sparkling diamonds and sapphires of the deepest blue reminded Pansy of Tom's eyes at their most intense. The largest of the gems was an oval shaped sapphire, sitting over a depiction of an eagle. Just under that, she could barely make out a text carved in the silver. Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure. She was entranced by the delicate crown. She wondered if Tom would mind if she wore it to the Founder's Ball.
With inquisitive fingers, she reached for the object.
She thought she heard an intake of breath and spun her head around to look at Tom's slave. The Mudblood was still standing immobile, staring at the floor.
That was silly—slaves didn't react.
Brushing it off as maybe it being her own breath she heard, she reached for the tiara and grasped it in her hand.
Immediately, it was as if her thoughts had suddenly cleared and the most prominent goal in her life became to place the object on her head.
She did so.
000
Normally, Professor Yaxley droned on in History of Magic and the class was never ending. This time, she found herself perking to attention.
"Headmaster Slughorn has been told by the Select that we must talk more about the Wizarding War." The class groaned in unison. "Quiet up! As you all know, the most important thing to remember is that Minister Grindelwald defeated the dark wizard known as Dumbledore, and founded the Select in the aftermath of the war. He enslaved all Mudbloods and Half-bloods, assigning each Pureblood witch and wizard their very own slave, sometimes more than one, of which they are bonded to thanks to the slave bond. Now, does anyone know what the slave bond does?"
"It bonds the slave's magic to our own, the magic they have stolen, and directs it back to us—the rightful owners. It also reinforces the orders we give to our slaves so that they must obey."
"Excellent job, Neville. Ten points to Gryffindor. Now, your assignment today will be to write a three foot essay on the war and the results of it."
Pansy couldn't remember a time when she had paid such apt attention to a class.
000
"Tom," Pansy queried, sitting on her favorite divan in their shared common room. "If the slaves have stolen our magic, how come they do not use it against us?"
Tom looked up surprised by the question, but ever one to partake in an intellectual conversation, he answered readily. "Because Minister Grindelwald's slave bond is automatic with birth, it cannot be broken, besides with lycanthropy."
"But, Ginevra was reading something at lunch, something in the Prophet. It had talked about a rebellion. How can the slave's rebel if their magic is bound to us?" She shot a worried glance over at Harry and Hermione, standing like they always did against the walls as if they were part of the furniture.
"That's because it's a Pureblood and a werewolf heading the rebellion. Sirius Black is a Pureblood through and through, the Ministry used to admit that, but now they gloss it over. Remus Lupin is a Half-Blood, but he is a werewolf and that breaks the slave bond."
"Tom, I don't understand why slaves would want to break the bond. I thought they understood their positions in life."
Tom smirked in response. "Have you ever seen the way the Weasley's treat their Mudbloods? They torture and use them for target practice."
Pansy did remember. How had she not thought of that before?
"Parkinson, why so suddenly interested in politics? I've never seen you do your HoM homework before."
Why am I so interested? And when did I start thinking of Tom's slave as Hermione? "I'm not sure Tom."
Tom only nodded, but his eyes bored into hers.
000
The Order of the Phoenix strikes again, the heading said. Pansy went on to read that the Order was credited for liberating a Muggle factory. Pansy didn't need to ask why it was Muggles that were being liberated and not Mudbloods or Half-Bloods. Muggles were not strictly tied to the Select by the slave bond.
Pansy looked at Harry who stood against the wall of the Great Hall. He was like a fixture, an inanimate object that did not move or think for himself. But was that really the case? Behind the blank face, were there thoughts and feelings? Passion?
Things had been this way for so long, Pansy had never questioned them. But now, with resound clarity, she realized she was starting to.
000
The common room was empty again, which was all the better to Pansy. She'd actually remembered to meet Olive and Millie for Hogsmeade weekend, but they had looked at her as if she'd grown three heads when she wanted to stop inside Tomes & Scrolls.
Now that she was back in her dorms, she deposited her new purchases on the table in their shared common area. Some of Tom's books fell to the floor in the process and she hurried to pick them up.
Carefully handling them, she absently read through the titles. Uncommon Potion Ingredients, Magical Maladies, Mysteries of the Fae, and Magick Moste Evile. Suddenly, these titles looked much more interesting than the works she'd selected.
Curiosity getting the better of her, she tried to open the last volume and was not surprised to find it was warded shut. Does he really think I'm so daft I can't break a simple ward? She expected much more from the Head Boy. She broke the ward with ease and then opened the book to where it was place-marked.
Of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction…
Her eyes widened the more she read.
000
"Congrats on the match Pans, though I had thought it would be Draco."
Pansy just nodded and muttered something resembling thanks. She rushed on to the dorms, her thoughts in turmoil, desperately seeking the comfort and relative solitude of the Head's dorms.
"Blast-ended skrewt," she snapped to the portrait.
The knight muttered something about etiquette but Pansy was already too far off to hear. When she entered the common room, she was appalled to find Tom sitting there. He had the audacity to look nonchalant. Of all the times for him to be here, when he's gone so often, why now?!
Her horror quickly morphed into rage and she stopped dead in her tracks to stare daggers at him, the danger evident in her gaze.
When he finally closed his book to look up at her with a sigh, she blurted it out before she could stop herself. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Don't play stupid, I'm sure you were paramount in making the match with my father. I want to know why. You've made your disdain for me quite clear, why then, have you saw fit to request my hand, without even telling me?"
"You can't possibly be so naive to think it has anything to do with my feelings towards you?"
Pansy said nothing, her glare prompting him to go on.
"As you know, I have no family of my own, no family connections. Obviously, it would bode well for me to have Slytherin's Princess, from the notable Parkinson family, as my wife."
"I just can't believe you would go behind my back, that you wouldn't make your intentions known to me first. What if I don't want this?"
"You're a Pureblood witch," he said simply. "Since when do you have a choice?"
Pansy's rage became suffocating until she finally spun on her heel and fled the stifling confines of the room. He was right anyway—she'd already accepted the betrothal bracelet.
000
Pansy felt slightly like she was losing her grip on reality. She would lose time and have odd dreams of dark chambers. In the mornings, Tom would offer to walk her to class. He would say he wanted to show her something. She would always decline. She didn't know why, but she was fearful of it. Despite her fear, she found herself quickly growing enamored with the dark and begrudgingly handsome wizard she not only was having to live with now, but would have to live with in the future.
000
She bumped into him on the way to the library. He hadn't noticed her; he was talking to Professor Prince, the Potions-Master. Professor Prince was laying into him. Pansy pressed herself against the stone wall so she could overhear, unnoticed.
"You're responsible for organizing and logging the potions, Riddle. You may be the Headmaster's favorite, but that doesn't mean I won't bring my concern of your negligence to him. If I see any more of my aconite disappearing-"
"You won't," Riddle answered, honesty written all over his face. "I was tutoring a Third Year, but I see now the effort is futile. He's wasted more batches of Color-changing Draught than I can count."
"Very well, Tom. See that he wastes no more."
Pansy hurried off to the library remembering her initial task and chronicling that exchange for later. Something itched at the corner of her brain. Tom had said he had no family to speak of, his mother, Merope Gaunt, dying in childbirth. It was his father, Thomas Riddle, that not much was known.
In the book she located on Pureblood ancestry, she was able to deduce that the Riddles were a branch off of the Peverell tree and widely accepted as a Pureblood name, though they had died off as had the Peverells. Convenient, she thought.
In her experience, the lack of information was enough to cause skepticism. Thomas Riddle, the son of Saoirse Peverell. Innocent enough, except…
Pansy racked her brain, not having remembered trying to think so hard on a given subject—ever. Jayden Peverell had been a victim of lycanthropy, hadn't she read that? Flipping back to the page she looked it over once more. Yes, Saoirse's father had been a werewolf, which meant nothing but an Azkaban sentence. So then why was she still looking at it? Sentenced to Azkaban in 1943, she read. If he was sentenced then, how could Saoirse have been born in 1951? Following that train of thought, how could Thomas have been born in 1973?
There was, of course, one solution. There was no Saoirse. Which meant there was no Thomas.
Riddle was a Half-Blood.
000
She watched Tom closely the next few days. He still seemed to want to get close to her and offered to walk her to classes. Pansy had the feeling he wanted to get her alone, outside the school wards, maybe. Probably so he can be free to practice dark magic. In spite of this, she still found herself enthralled by the Half-Blood.
Harry's a Half-Blood, can a Half-Blood really be that good of a wizard? It doesn't make sense, maybe the Select doesn't realize. In a moment of lucidity, she realized they probably did know, and they kept it secret.
She burned the book she read, with precise fiendfyre on the next Hogsmeade trip, out of Hogwarts wards.
She told Madam Pince it had been destroyed thanks to a hair curling charm gone wrong. The old hag bought it. She wasn't sure why she covered for Tom.
000
Now that her eyes had been opened, she began to notice things. Imperceptible things to most, but her sharp eyes caught them. The looks that would linger a second too long the rare times Tom ordered Hermione about, the way in which he never scolded neither Harry or Hermione—imperceptible, but telling just the same.
Still, Pansy could not prevent the feelings that arose when her thoughts turned to Tom. Where before, she had thought him a tragically handsome bookworm, she now saw him as the calculating, powerful, dark wizard that he was.
She knew it would be wise to keep her mouth shut, better for her, but she had spent hours thinking about it, during the insufferable silence between the four of them, and she decided she would not be happy on the fringes. I hope this is the right way to go about it…
"Two Half-Bloods, a Mudblood, and Pureblood. What an unlikely group we make."
Tom's previously inscrutable façade cracked to reveal surprise, before it quickly warped into something horrifying. She felt the force of his aggressive power crackling around her in a threatening sort of way; it brought her to her knees. Harry and Hermione looked shocked and absently, Pansy marveled at this—she'd never before seen them express emotion.
The face she had become obsessed with over the past several months, had compromised everything for, had questioned her beliefs for, was now contorted with pure rage and directed solely at her. She had wanted his attention, had sought it out and connived ways upon which he would notice her, as all the other boys in her year so easily did.
But this was not a boy.
This wizard was powerful; beyond any power that even a Seventh Year should be capable of wielding. Even with the added aid of the slave bond.
Pansy had been spellbound by that power, but now, she was frightened.
"You wore my diadem, didn't you?" The question came out in a sneer that made her recoil. His voice was low and dangerous. She cowered on her knees before him, barely aware of their slaves watching silently on the sidelines. If she'd had any control, she would have at least sent Harry away. This was humiliating.
Her first response would have been to ask how he knew. It was the logical question. But it was also a silly one. Pansy had worn the tiara and now she couldn't plead stupidity. He could tell she'd worn it because she had changed and though she tried to conceal it, knew it would be wise to, there was nothing Tom Riddle didn't take notice of.
She'd wanted it, had spent many nights dreaming of ways to get him to notice her.
She certainly had it and now. She knew what it was like to have the full attention of Tom Marvolo Riddle focused squarely on her.
"Yes," she managed to croak, her voice tremulous. "I did. And I've known for a while."
"Yet you didn't alert the Select, why?" He seemed to have regained some semblance of control in his posture, but his magic still pressed against her angrily.
"I…I can be loyal."
"Oh?"
"I've thought about things…I've thought a lot. I'm not sure I'm happy with how things are. I'm seeing now that I'm not the only one who questions the Select."
Three pairs of eyes were on her, scrutinizing her. She forced herself still under their probing stares, setting her jaw resolutely as she let them examine her. She would not display weakness, nor would she display doubt.
She met Tom's gaze and was mildly surprised to see the way he looked at her, as if he was seeing her for the first time. His eyes were rife with darkness and the promise of danger. It was…intoxicating.
000
The day it finally happened was the day she sealed her fate.
In the glow of the fire, it was not only Tom with a stack of books in front of him, but Pansy as well.
Lately, Pansy had attacked her studies with a renewed vigor, digging into all she could get her hands on and making up for lost time. She and Hermione were working on a particularly difficult star chart, conversing easily with one another. Her hair was unkempt and her uniform not in its usual perfect state. Ironically, this had been when he'd finally taken notice.
"Today I'll take you," he informed her, saying the words as if letting her know when the next prefect meeting would be.
Pansy's breathing stopped. He wasn't even looking at her but her heart rate sped up as she was hit with an unsuspecting wave of lust that clashed horribly with the fear already gripping her. She looked to Hermione for support. The bushy-haired brunette merely raised her eyebrows.
Pansy nodded in response, working up the courage to speak. "In private, I hope." She was no prude and certainly no virgin, but Pansy was shocked to see Harry, from the other end of the couch, smirk at this. She suddenly had the wicked notion to send a stinging hex through the slave bond.
Tom's only answer was to get up and head for his room. Pansy began to clam up and she felt suddenly nauseous. She had often wondered what kind of lover he would be. Certainly not gentle, she pegged him more for the hard and fast type.
She had the feeling she was supposed to follow and did so shakily through her embarrassment. She'd slept with Draco in front of his slave, but at that point, she hadn't viewed them as people. Now that her eyes were opened and she'd gotten to know Harry and Hermione, she could not suppress the twinge of humiliation mingled with the fear and lust.
Resolutely, she followed Tom and tentatively entered his room.
She did not see him and was surprised when he crept up behind her, his fingers brushing lightly along the column of her shoulders. Pansy felt something twist violently in her stomach, making it abruptly hard to breathe. Her clothes were suddenly too tight and she ached for more of his touch.
He pulled her back more firmly against him and dropped his mouth to the sensitive pulse point on her neck. Pansy held back a whimper that quickly morphed into a moan when he bit her neck, marking her, and she felt his hands glide down her sides.
When he turned her around to face him, she was too filled with desire to worry about being embarrassed. He was like a drug and now that he was giving her more of him, she had to have it, like an addict. His kiss was erotic and deep, setting her on fire and making her soul sing. She was desperate for more and gave in eagerly as she threw her arms around him.
Her hips had fallen open, making room for him, and he pressed up against her, molding his body to hers. Excitement coursed through her veins at the feeling of his need, coupled with their magical energies—hers caressing his and his forever dominating and teasing hers.
Roughly, he shoved up her dress at the hips and yanked down her knickers. Pansy's fingers sought the flesh underneath his shirt as she pulled urgently at it. Her need was frantic and she begged and pleaded until she felt him poised and ready to fill her.
When he entered her sofuckingfinally, she felt conscious thought slipping away as she basked in the glorious feeling of being so delightfully filled. All was still for a moment as nothing but the sounds of their rough breathing could be heard, when finally he blissfully, began moving, pistoning himself in and out of her in the most decadent pattern.
Then it was all scorching kisses and heated caresses causing liquid fire to shoot to her core. The decadent sensations caused tightening and tenseness in all the right places until Pansy felt as taut as a bow ready to spring. She was headed towards delirium and he was gladly taking her there with every snap of his hips.
As she quivered on the edge, between all the madness, a thought slammed forcefully into her mind. Sex so good I can gladly die for it. It should have invoked concern but she was too far gone to care. He edged her expertly to the edge and then, sofuckingfinally, over it until she was spinning, careening, free falling—with nothing stationary to hold on to but him.
Afterwards, while she lay sated in his arms, she stared up at the silver crown that was still dangling from the bedpost.
"Can I wear it?" If she'd had more energy, she would have flinched at the husky sound of her voice.
Tom didn't need to ask what she was referring to. He merely inclined his head and Pansy reached for it, curious fingers closing over the silver metal, somehow warm to the touch. The emerald green sheet had pulled at her waist as she placed the tiara on her head.
She closed her eyes in wonder…and lost time again.
000
Pansy rushed back from the school's Slave Records office. She hoped no one had seen her and she hoped she'd made the right decision. He had asked her to come with him again, after their date to Hogsmeade. She hadn't wanted to break from their group of friends to be alone with him though. She couldn't shake the feeling that her life was in danger, intensified tenfold after wearing the tiara. Her dreams were becoming more commonplace and feeling oddly prophetic. She needed to make herself indisposable to him.
000
The four of them were gathered in the Head's common room, eating lunch Hermione had collected from the house elves. They often gathered here instead of with their peers in the Great Hall. Pansy was particularly grumpy given another restless night spent dreaming. She hated that the others still withheld their trust from her, even after she'd proven she could keep quiet.
"So," Pansy began lightly. "Do you fuck her, too?"
She heard Harry's fork clatter to his plate and saw that Hermione and Tom had stopped eating. She waited patiently for a response.
"Sometimes," he answered truthfully. "When she's earned it."
Pansy's eyes widened at the admission. Somehow, she hadn't been expecting honesty. She wasn't sure what surprised her more—the truth, his willingness to admit it, or Hermione's response.
"Fuck you, Tom," Hermione said, leveling a dangerous glare at the haughty wizard. My, my, she's as barmy as a Gryffindor.
Tom smirked, not the least bit embarrassed. "Now, now. We're all adults here, all Order members, for Salazar's-sake." He looked Pansy's way. "Well, most of us."
Out on the fringes, she thought dejectedly. Disposable. That will simply never do.
"I'd like to be inducted in the Order," Pansy proposed softly.
"We'll see what Snape says. He and Bella have a rather thorough vetting process." Tom smiled to himself at this and Pansy felt again like she was on the outs.
"Not thorough enough to have ousted you," Pansy said boldly as she crossed her arms across her chest. "Admit it; the Order is merely a means to an end for you."
"She has you pegged, mate," Harry said, shooting Pansy an appraising look.
She ignored his remark. "How did Snape and Bella escape the slave bond?"
"The Select had trouble at first, grandfathering some in." Tom's mask was erected once more and Pansy was irritated to find his face unreadable. "And I'm loyal…for now."
Pansy frowned as she turned her attention back to her food. She needed to make sure she stayed on Tom's good side and that he saw the value in keeping her.
000
It was the evening of the Founder's Ball. Pansy wore her Champagne-colored silk gown that fit like a second skin at the bodice but flowed effortlessly at the waist.
Tom looked incredible in his dark green dress robes—they were almost as dark as the night's sky. His black locks fell loosely over his eyes and Pansy admired the way she had ruffled them earlier in the evening when he had brought her to ecstasy once again.
It was funny how Pansy had once looked forward to the Founder's Ball. This was supposed to be her crowning year. She and Olive had stayed up late in the Slytherin dorms making plans since Third Year for this very evening. Now, she couldn't even remember the last time she'd spoken to Olive.
Tom had consumed her life and all the restless nights spent planning, dreaming, and thinking left her on edge.
"A toast," Tom suggested bringing two crystal glasses of Champagne. "To the halfway point of the final year."
"Yes," Pansy said, snatching the glass. "It's already halfway through the term and you've still kept me in the dark about the Order. It's not like I haven't proven myself time and time again by not sharing your secret with the Select."
Tom narrowed his eyes at her. "You haven't done me any favors, pet. It isn't as if Minister Grindelwald doesn't already know about my Half-Blood status. Do you really think you're the only person that could notice such an egregious slip? It was the Select's attempt at covering for a Half-Blood orphan."
Pansy felt her jaw drop. How in Merlin's name could the Select know, and be fine with a Half-Blood attending Hogwarts? It defies their own rules! Her mind was racing but instead she could only gasp out a response. "How?"
"So silly and so naïve, my betrothed. You already know how corrupt the Select can be. The Minister does what suits his best interests. The Select thrives on slavery but they don't really believe the rhetoric they feed the masses. Finding a reason to bend Mudbloods and Half-Bloods to the will of the Purebloods is all about power and strengthening the power of a select few. Of course there are exceptions."
"But, I thought you were loyal to the Order?"
"Like I said, everyone has their uses. I'm watched carefully—my owls, communication lines, the spells that leave my wand, by the Select and I deplore it. Yet they find nothing suspicious in my actions because I'm smarter."
"So then how can you communicate with the Order?" She took a deep drink of her Champagne in an attempt to calm herself.
"That's simple, pet. Hogwarts wards are strong, but my ancestor built a way around it. I'm free to do as I please in my Chamber—where I'll be taking you now."
Her vision blurred and she only barely registered the sound of her glass breaking as it clattered to the marble floor. Her knees gave out and blackness crept up her mind as she felt weightless in her dark wizard's arms. She couldn't believe she'd allowed herself to be drugged.
000
When she came to, she had no idea where she was or if she was even inside Hogwarts any longer.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harry and Hermione working over a cauldron. She tried to lift her body up but found her hands were bound and she fell promptly back to the stone floor. Panic seized her, and she realized she was in quite the bind. Her mind raced as she tried to think of a solution, going over of all the hints and clues she'd picked up so far.
She forced her body limp as she attempted to calm herself. Everything will be fine; this is what you've been preparing for! The last test and you're ready.
She tensed with nervousness once more when she saw Tom to the left of her.
"Hello, pet," Tom said fingering something shiny and sparkling in his hands. "Gracious of you to join us."
"Tom, listen-"
"Not Tom," his voice rose several octaves. "I'm not Tom down here. Hermione, if you'll please inform our guest."
Hermione looked Pansy's way, breaking from the meticulous task before her. "You're in the presence of Lord Voldemort."
Pansy gulped, attempting to keep the fright from her eyes.
Tom brandished the tiara in front of her, it's sapphires catching the light cast from the sconces that dimly illuminated the corridor. "You see this darling? It's the diadem you're so enamored with."
"I wasn't-"
"Hermione told me the way you had worn it, had left it atop your head for an hour, just staring. And you did it again with me, or don't you remember?" Pansy frowned, had it been an hour she'd worn it? That couldn't be. "Rowena Ravenclaw must have been an exceptional witch that her wisdom charm could have worked on even you. Why, towards the end, you'd even made Hermione-worthy connections—almost."
Towards the end…he means to kill me! To do to me what that book described. That's all the use I am to him. That…and Harry.
"It's poetic really. I can think of no better person to make this horcrux with."
"It'll be a waste, Tom, er…Lord Voldemort. To use my death to make that when there are such better uses for me." Pansy hated the way her voice came out hoarse.
"You're a good fuck, but nobody's that good."
She ignored the jibe, continuing on resolutely. "You can use some Muggle tramp or something, it doesn't matter. But not me, I can be so much more useful."
"Rule number one, keep your circle small. There isn't room for you, Pansy. I'm sorry."
"You can make room," she spat out angrily, feeling bolder now. "I know what you're doing—what the Order wants from you—I've figured it out."
"Oh?"
"You're to make a potion, I'm not sure exactly, but it will mimic the effects of lycanthropy, like a Muggle antibiotic. More importantly—it will break the slave bond because the taker will register properties of a beast."
Three pairs of eyes were glued on her. Tom was quiet for only a moment. "Like I said, Rowena was an exceptional witch."
Pansy trudged on. "You'll sell the potion to the Order, the instructions of how to make it—it's your in."
"As impressed as I am by your remarkable deductions, how does any of this help you?"
"You're missing something, aren't you? A rare ingredient you need to make the potion. I admit, I don't know what it is, but I know it can be found near fairy knolls."
Tom said nothing, a flicker of annoyance passed through his gaze. Encouraged, Pansy continued. "I know it was a lie when you said you wanted the benefit of my family connections. I know what you really want is the rights to Harry, who when I die, you, as my betrothed, would inherit. But there are other uses a Parkinson has other than mere connections." She paused to get her breath, noticing with a spark of hope that she still had everyone's attention. "I can trace my lineage to the Rookwoods."
"Rubbish," Hermione said dismissively. Pansy shot her a worried glance. Lady Voldemort, her mind screamed. Hermione already had a place; it was time to carve one for herself.
"The family is said to be the first race of witches and wizards started by the fae queen herself."
Hermione set her hand on her hip looking cross. "A fairytale."
"I've always been sensitive to all things Fae, I'm sure I can find your fairy knoll."
"That could be useful," Tom admitted. His eyes were boring into hers and Pansy felt the brush of Legilimency. She let him see the truth of her words.
"There are spells for that," Hermione argued. "We don't really need her."
Tom looked pensive. Now for the finale. "That isn't all. If I die, Harry's contract won't go to you, Tom."
Hermione and Harry looked alarmed at this. Tom merely smirked it off. "That's silly, you would need to make a formal claims request at the Records Department to break the succession…that is-," Tom narrowed his eyes and turned to her incredulously. "You've already done so." It was a statement, not a question. He already knew the answer.
"I'm sorry, Harry." Pansy said, looking over at the black-haired wizard. "My life matters too."
"Who will the contract go to?" asked Hermione.
"I've donated his contract to the Select in the event of my death, a common practice among Purebloods."
"Salazar's-rod," Tom swore. "That does present a problem."
"I know you can still get him back once the potion is finished, but it will be more difficult. And why would you want to? Especially when you have a willing accomplice in myself?"
Everyone was quiet for a moment as they considered her words. Tom was the first to break the silence. "You're as paranoid as I am. Ever the cunning Slytherin," Tom said, shooting her a look of approval. Even though he was on the verge of murdering her, Pansy could not help but preen under the compliment.
"Just for the record," Harry said, putting his hands up in surrender. "I was against it from the start."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"I hope there aren't any hard feelings," Hermione said evenly. "You've been a silly little bint every single year thus far. You had to prove yourself. I for one will be pleased to have another girl around. What do you say, Tom?" He inclined his head ever so slightly and Pansy felt the weight lift from her shoulders. "Ginevra would make a much better horcrux-victim anyway, in my opinion."
"You only say that because she tortures your friend Dean." Tom waved his wand lazily, breaking Pansy's binds. She got hastily to her feet. "We can't get personal, Hermione."
"Oh, like you didn't get personal when you wanted Pansy for the diadem?" The fiery brunette shot back.
Harry thrust out a hand for Pansy to take. "Welcome to the Death Eaters, Pans. You've always been one of the, er, decent mistresses."
"Glad I could make your time in captivity more bearable."
"I may keep my inner circle small," Tom said, taking Pansy's arm in his. "But I promise you will see Death Eater numbers swell before the decade is up. Now I suppose we'd better get back to the Founder's Ball, since we are the ones hosting it."
"You two have all the fun," Hermione jested.
Pansy allowed herself a sigh of relief. The position of Lady Voldemort might be taken, and she may never be Tom's equal, but she still managed to carve herself a spot by her Lord's side. Lady Riddle would do nicely.
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