Disclaimer: I own nothing, all rights belong to Mrs. Rowling and I take no credit for anything except the plot and OC's.
Happy Valentine's Day!
I meant to update yesterday but my beta couldn't send me the edited chapter until today so sorry for tardiness. I've been very busy with school, personal problems and so many other things so I don't want you to think I didn't just write because I'm lazy, which I am, but it wasn't the reason for such late update.
I hope you're well and thank you for everyone who adds this story to favorites and alerts but specially to those who take the time to review because you show me that you're actually reading this story and giving me some motivation to keep doing what I do. You're amazing.
And a special thanks to my beta Pooja, who keeps being her amazing self and gives me great advices in my writing.
Enough being said, enjoy.
He knew he ought not to be thinking about her. The girl was beneath him, anyway, but somehow he couldn't help but wonder. After taking her bewildering performance at the dueling contest into account, he had to admit she had piqued his interest.
It wasn't often he encountered an enigma in this dreary place– the people here were wholly by far and large uninteresting, and everything except his own academic pursuits bored him. Yet, here was a girl, a precocious and rather querulous girl, with sheltered emotions behind her eyes and more than a few vicious hexes up her sleeve, and he was... well, he was intrigued. For the first time in a while, he was interested by someone instead of something.
She seemed to think she could somehow match his level. No one ever dared do something so incredulous. Mostly everyone just obeyed everything he said and didn't question him any further. However, Hermione Austen was nothing like anyone else he knew, and for whatever reason that attracted him to her like a magnet. For example, there was no reason she should abhor him. He was every bit the perfect child as ever; though no one at the school really knew him well enough to dislike him.
Her hatred was completely indecipherable.
But it wasn't just that little pesky detail that was bothering him. Frankly, what was bothering him most was what had happened at the dueling contest, that surge of energy that had connected his wand with hers. He had felt odd, as if a strange power had radiated within him, something foreign dwelling in his chest. It had all felt like some sort of magic, powerful magic emanating from them, although it was probably just him; he was a better wizard than her after all.
He hadn't given it much thought as of late, but truly, it had been nagging him since the competition had ended. He knew he hadn't imagined it; he, too, had seen the look on her face, and he knew that she hadn't been expecting it either, whatever it was.
But what could it possibly be? He started mentally listing his encounters with Hermione since he'd found her.
First, he knew the story she had fed him and everyone else around this godforsaken place had just been words fabricated like an intricate web of lies. He knew how to spot liars, how could he not? He was the master of lies himself. The fact that she had seemingly appeared out of thin air was rather suspicious, and Tom hadn't actually seen them appear. After all, he had been sitting beside his window. He would surely have heard when they arrived.
And then there was the matter of her blatant hatred of him. Frankly, if he was being honest with himself, he had given that particular issue too much thought. If she was lying, it was because she had a good motive, a purpose for her web of lies. And as he was the master of deceit, he could only guess why she'd do that. There were different types of liars; he just had to find out in which category she fit.
She would lie to hold onto something, something which she knew wasn't complete enough to be the whole truth, but enough to mislead everyone around her. And all if it was obviously done intentionally. He just had to know why she would bother lying to someone she didn't even know, unless she did know him somehow and that was something he had to find out. The resentment she held against him had to prove that she somehow knew him.
There simply wasn't another logical explanation.
Then, there was that time where he'd used Legilimency on her. Her memories had been blurry, like she had been struggling to block them. Tom remembered having seen a red-haired boy and another with round spectacles, striking green eyes, and messy jet-black hair. And she had been crying in them, so he knew that the red-haired guy had died.
Riddle tried to remember more, but everything had been so hazy. Though, he couldn't get rid of the uneasy sensation that he somehow knew the place she had been, had potentially been there before. But even as he tried to remember more or try to make more sense of the memories, he couldn't. It was like watching a scene play out from behind dirty glass.
And now, at this very moment, she was sitting directly in front of him. After this class they would all go down to the Great Hall for lunch and he felt sorely tempted to corner her and use Legilimency on her. This wasn't even an isolated incident; he had been sorely tempted on various occasions to do just that, but he had tried once and it hadn't worked. He couldn't help risking her sensing him trying to use Legilimency on her again, not after what had happened at the orphanage.
No, Legilimency definitely wasn't an option. How brash and uncivilized that would be. He could surely do better than that.
Riddle rubbed at an eye with a long finger. A spot of torture surely wouldn't be too terrible? Not if it allowed him to get what he needed... a simple Crucio, and then he could Obliviate her afterwards. Less of a last resort than Legilimency, anyway.
Yes, the idea was rather appealing, but it left too much room for error. Especially with a wild card like Austen to deal with – perhaps she, too, had Dark Magic to work with, but was hiding it. She was proficient in non-verbal magic, knew complex hexes and how to block them – Dark Magic definitely seemed like the logical next step.
His knuckles had turned white from how strongly he was gripping his quill and he slowly began forcing himself to relax his muscles, one by one. His eyes had been unfocused for at least the majority of the class and now he realized everyone had already started transfiguring their goblets into birds.
Tom looked around, but he saw that no one had even paid attention to him and his inattentiveness. All eyes were glued to their respective wands and goblets, except for one pair of deep blue eyes. Staring at him like a hawk from one corner, Dumbledore seemed to be attempting to pierce through his soul. Riddle stared back at him without blinking and then finally looked away. He sat up straighter and with a swift move of his wand, his goblet turned into a glorious bird. He smiled and turned to look at Dumbledore with a smug look on his face. His smile broadened as he saw the old man glance away.
He glanced at the hour and saw that the class had almost ended, so he began storing his quills, ink bottles, books, and parchments. When there was nothing left to tidy on the table and Dumbledore had dismissed them all, Tom stood up rigidly and walked out of the transfiguration class, catching Austen's bushy hair out from the corner of his eye. He sighed, wondering why in the world he couldn't stop thinking about her.
It was disgusting.
Admittedly, he was devoting quite a disproportionate amount of his thought process to the Austen girl – far more than he felt should be logical. He had other things that needed time to be planned. Austen's would have to wait. For example, it was imperative to find a swift solution to the issue of the curse.
During his free time, he had been studying the book and it hadn't been until yesterday that he had found something that could possibly help him.
"The Laveus ring is rumored to be a legendary item that had once belonged to one Thomas Magnus in the beginning of the 13th-century. In popular conception, the ring is thought to possess a magical substance known for its uncanny ability to intensify the magical aura of the one possessing it. Its various uses range from limitless wandless magic to untraceable and powerful curses.
It is also believed to be an elixir of life of some sorts, particularly known for its healing abilities.
According to legend, Thomas Magnus was said to have passed the magical talisman to his pupil, Albertus Aquinas, shortly before his death circa 1280. Magnus recorded that, through the ring, he witnessed the cure for his son's illness. It is rumored Albertus Aquinas had been victim of a terrible curse cast upon him by a Dark Wizard in the early fifteenth century, and was on his deathbed when his father and mentor gifted him the ring, vanishing any trace of the curse from his body. However, no one saw nor heard anything further from Aquinas, until his death caused by natural circumstances in 1355.
The ring is said to have been lost in the mists of time. Some believe that it was recovered by a wizarding king in the seventeenth century, and that it is stored today in the Ministry of Magic, forgotten in the many unnamed vaults of the Department of Mysteries."
Since he had read the passage, the idea of possessing the ring had imprinted itself in his brain and from then on he had sworn to obtain the ring for his own. It was the only option he had to get rid himself of the horrible curse, though now that he considered it, the idea of strengthening his magic wasn't all that bad either. In fact, it was perfect. Not only he would be free of the chains of his heritage, but he would also be more powerful than anyone else in existence. Surely, his wandless magic would be limitless, his imperius curse stronger and untraceable, the cruciatus curse—his favorite—stronger and more painful, and the killing curse cast without a single flick of his wand. He liked the idea of that.
Just thinking about it sent shivers down his spine, and his stomach churned in anxiousness.
oOo
At lunch, Riddle sat idly at the Slytherin table, taking short sips of his hot tea, not even bothering to look up when Lestrange commented, "It's been wonderful weather, lately."
Instead of responding, Tom made a face at the thin liquid in his cup and placed it back on the table. "Too weak."
"Well, I don't think it's an appropriate way to describe the day, but…"
"The tea, Lestrange," Tom said, irked.
"Oh," Lestrange demurred. "I hadn't even realized you were drinking any."
Tom didn't acknowledge him, and instead he stirred his food with his fork.
"Where's Carter?" Mulciber asked.
"Probably getting ready for Quidditch practice later. I know I wouldn't mind getting a good start against that Gryffindor bludger-head and his cronies…" Malfoy chimed in, a superior smirk plastered on his face.
Nott scoffed. "He's an idiot."
"I don't think his thoroughly whipping you at Quidditch qualifies him for idiocy." Lilt, Nott's girlfriend, didn't as much as glance up from her slim book. She turned a page, impervious to Nott's seething.
"He didn't whip us," Nott said, irked. "It was a very close game-"
"Last year," Lilt pointed out. "Not only did you lose, you're still sore over it."
Nott nearly stood up at that, his eyes blazing. "We lost because-"
"I don't really think Quidditch deserves the importance you're giving it," Lestrange interrupted, wearing a half-smile that seemed rueful, if not a little nervous.
Nott sat back and huffed at his girlfriend. "It wasn't fair, that's all I'm saying. There's no way that filthy muggle scum-"
Tom looked up then simply, and the table fell into a deathly silence. Lilt shut her book and set it face up on the table; Nott appeared more attentive and respectful than he had been the entire lunch.
And no one spoke again until Tom left the Great Hall.
oOo
Hermione tried to ignore Riddle as best as she could. Slughorn had placed them as partners once again and they would probably stay that way for the remainder of the classes for that year. She turned the page as she added some ingredients to her cauldron.
As Tom cut the required Hartwang root into pieces, Hermione stood up and walked over to the storage room. She stood on a stool, examining the shelves. She groped for some jar on the top shelf, keeping a precarious hold on the opposite shelf with her free hand. When she finally found a small bottle labeled 'Heritag Herung', she grabbed the bottle and walked out of the storage room.
When she reached her table, Riddle was still cutting the roots with precise movements, not deviating from the measurement by even an inch.
"Slughorn told us to study all about our assigned potions on the books he just gave us and he's going to ask some questions at the end of class," he said without looking up.
"Are you going to read it?"
"No," he responded curtly.
Hermione raised an eyebrow, knowing she shouldn't care if he read it or not. "Why?"
"Because I already know everything there is to know about it. It would become tiring having to read it again." Tom shrugged, as he slipped some of the roots he had chopped into the cauldron.
Hermione glared at him, though he didn't seem to have noticed. "Alright then."
She grabbed her book but couldn't concentrate on what it said, and it wasn't as if she needed the information. She already knew all there was to know about the potion, even if Riddle didn't know this.
Riddle. Riddle. Riddle. He didn't seem to be in the mood today. She had to admit; he even looked paler and had dark circles under his eyes. If she really thought about it, he hadn't exactly been in the mood for anything ever since the dueling competition. Not that she was surprised; she would've expected this coming from a mile off. Maybe he'd decided to put aside the politeness and begin showing his true colors? To her, at least.
Hermione leaned back and stared at the other partners working on their potion, feeling tired as she did so. She regretted not having slept well the previous night. It was all the fault of the nightmares of course, though she couldn't quite make out what her dream might have meant. All she remembered was a withered rose and red eyes.
"You seem to be studying most diligently."
She jerked her head and saw Tom eying her disapprovingly. "I already know this stuff."
He looked her over. For some time they looked at each other. Hermione crossed her arms and raised her chin as if challenging him to say something.
"Tell me about the potion," he said simply.
She narrowed her eyes, and then suddenly the book that had been in her hands snapped shut and levitated over at Tom.
"What was that for?"
"You won't have the book when Slughorn asks you," he said with a smirk.
"Well just so you know I happen to know the answers, so I consider this unnecessary."
"If you know the answers, then you won't need the book anyway." Tom shrugged as he played with the book in his hands.
Hermione glared at him and then, without a second thought, she started reciting with perfect enunciation, all she knew about their potion with alarming speed. When she was finished, Tom was eying her with a smile creeping upon his lips.
"I must say, I'm impressed."
"Can I have the book back?" she pressed. Riddle smiled and snapped his fingers; the book levitated, rotated a full circle in the air and then went back to his lap. Hermione looked surveyed the other occupants of the classroom from the corner of her eye, but it didn't seem as if someone was paying them any attention.
So you think you're so clever with your wandless magic, do you? she thought. Well, you're not the only one Tom…
Hermione smirked and concentrated on the book in his lap. It slowly rose and soared back to her.
She looked up to see Tom staring at her in shock.
"How did you do that? We haven't learned wandless magic yet," he shot, his tone accusing.
"You have your tricks, I have mine," she replied.
Tom stared at her, his eyes calculating. "Like what?"
"Excuse me?" she asked.
"What tricks do you have?" he pressed.
He, she realized, was leaning even closer to her, and she could now get a better glimpse at his eyes. They were a pure, dull grey, but she hadn't ever noticed the small dots of dark blue around the pupil. There were suddenly so many shades of color and a certain depth to his soul—well, if he even had one. All its details made a strange and otherworldly beauty, and then she hated him even more. He was so handsome. How could he be so hollow and still look like that? In her time, Voldemort at least had had the decency to look just as his soul no doubt did.
She shook her head in disbelief. "That's really none of your business."
And there it was again. How she had addressed him and how she had looked at him. There had been pure hatred in her eyes and also a great amount of contempt. As if he was something gross she had found under her shoe. The worst of it though, was that glint of pity he could sometimes see when she spoke to him. He didn't like pity, he abhorred it. It had unsympathetic connotations of feelings of superiority or condescension. As if she could ever be superior to him.
"Ah, Ms. Austen, but I think it is, or do you think I have forgotten about the incident at the dueling competition?"
She blanched; she knew what he was talking about, how could she not? She had spent a whole afternoon thinking about just that. She had even come to her own conclusions; just neither one of them seemed to be the correct one.
"I sincerely doubt it is of any importance," she said rather offhandedly.
"I believe it is. You, as well as I, want to find out what it is that happened between us during our duel," Riddle said, his voice light and seemingly normal. But she knew better.
"But that leads us to the same conclusion," Hermione demurred. "I don't know anything and neither do you, so why give it more importance than it actually has?"
Riddle chuckled softly. "Ah, but Hermione. You are a smart witch. Surely you have given the subject much thought?"
"Well, I hate to disappoint, but I haven't." Riddle stared at her for a moment, noting the slight indentation of a frown line between her eyebrows.
"Well then, I guess I was wrong, Hermione," he whispered, his eyes dripping with fake disappointment. "I must say I hoped more of you in this matter. Apparently, I was mistaken."
She felt blood rising to her cheeks and before she knew what was happening, she felt something warm boiling inside of her. Suddenly, Riddle was flung off his chair, slamming into the wall behind him.
Almost by reflex, Hermione stood up and frowned. She hadn't even pulled out a wand. Had she used wandless magic again? This time unintentionally? Either way, Riddle did not seem very happy. She looked around and saw that some of the students had noted what had happened and were now leaning in their chairs to catch a glimpse of Riddle. Slughorn however must've disappeared to the storage room because he was nowhere to be seen.
Tom glared at her and dusted himself off, rubbing his head where it had hit the wall. His nostrils were flaring. Before Hermione could react she was flung high into the air and thrust down onto ground.
Hermione got slowly on her feet again. Her whole body ached and she could feel her left shoulder throbbing. She blinked and looked around her. Hermione could see the other students looking at her with different emotions flickering on their faces: astonishment, awe, disbelief, and in some cases even fear.
And then Slughorn came out from the storage room, his eyes widening in horror.
"Tom m'boy, what happened?" his eyes began moving frantically, eying both Tom and Hermione, and then the rest of his students, but no one knew what to say. Slughorn shook his head as if trying to get rid of a thought and then waved them up.
"Ms. Austen, Mr. Riddle, please just follow me," he said and then he turned to the other students. "Just get back to your potions and wait for my return."
Slughorn walked toward the door and, as Hermione saw no other option, she followed him. Riddle had come to the same conclusion as he too limped after the professor. Slughorn stood waiting for them outside the classroom. When Riddle and Hermione walked out, the door was slammed shut behind them.
Slughorn began to look at them as if waiting for someone to speak, but as neither did as he planned, he focused on Tom, who looked rather contrite. "May I ask what happened?"
Tom looked down, his eyes dipping in fake guilt. "I don't know, sir. I don't think we were even conscious of what we were doing."
Hermione faltered when she heard him use the word 'we'.
"Tom, m'boy, I can't say that I do not feel disappointed for the way you've behaved. I must say that I really expected more of you." Slughorn tsked disappointedly.
"I am very sorry, professor. I don't know what happened to me. I just think I should make it clear that it was never my intention to harm Hermione." His voice was the perfect representation of repentance and shame.
Hermione nearly rolled her eyes. She couldn't help but admire his acting skills, though. Slughorn was obviously dumb enough to believe the act as his eyes softened a little bit.
"Sir, there's nothing I can say that will excuse what I did. I shouldn't—I never meant to harm anyone. I do hope you believe me," Riddle pleaded again with him, his voice dripping with faux honesty. "I'm sorry."
Hermione could've almost had believed him.
"Sir, I don't know what came over me. I know I cannot justify what happened," she said slowly, trying to imitate Tom's tone.
Tom shifted at her side.
"Very well. Ms. Austen, Mr. Riddle, what you have done today was very wrong. Attacking each other in the classroom, and two of my best students!" Slughorn looked at them uneasily. "But I can see that you regret what you have done. After all, we are all humans, aren't we? We all make mistakes."
"Yes, of course, sir," Riddle muttered, still looking contrite. Hermione gritted her teeth but she too tried to look ashamed herself.
"But I fear I will still have to punish you. 50 points from each your houses, respectively. And you will both be serving detentions with me," Slughorn said, looking flabbergasted at the concept. "And now, both of you, why don't you go to the hospital wing to check on yourselves?"
"Of course, sir," Riddle answered softly.
And before Riddle could stop her, Hermione did the only thing she thought convenient, and walked as far away as she possibly could from him.
oOo
Draco walked slowly around the end of a nearby bookshelf, gathering random books as he walked by.
"I seriously don't know why you need that many books, Draco," Hermione said, trying to keep her voice low enough not to earn a stern look from the librarian.
Draco was rather listlessly scanning the bookshelf, several books dangling from one hand. He seemed not to have heard her. After what seemed like an eternity Draco plunked a pile of books on their usual table and sat down.
"So, you were saying you got detention on Sunday night, right?" he whispered to Hermione, who was bent over her Arithmancy problems.
She looked up and raised an eyebrow waspishly as if the simple reminder annoyed her, which it did. "Yes. Why?"
Draco leaned closer and whispered, "Because it may be the only time where I can finally nick the book."
"What? How?" Hermione asked, her muted voice harsh. She had decided they would have to wait, and had been simultaneously worried and relieved at the prospect. She suddenly felt part guilty she hadn't been thinking much about the book at all.
He looked around surreptitiously, making sure there was no one around who could eavesdrop. When he was sure that no one would, he leaned in even closer. "Have you ever heard of a spell named Visum-Ineptio?" Draco asked, relishing the sound of it.
Hermione nodded. "I read about it once."
"Visum-Ineptio, or eye fooling, more simply. If you work through the Latin, you can sort of figure it out."
"It helps people see what they think they are going to see," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Draco nodded. Hermione looked pensive for a brief moment and then her eyes lit up with realization as she laid eyes on the books at his side. "Are you planning to swap books?"
Draco nodded again, this time smiling. "That's exactly what I was planning on doing. It's a good thing you're smart."
Hermione blushed softly at his praise but quickly waved it off. "But wouldn't you need a book of approximately the same size? I mean, we can't expect to fool him if the book is smaller and thinner."
"Yes. That's why I'm looking for books that looks alike to the one Riddle has." He looked over at the pile of books. "From what I've observed, Riddle's book is large, thick, black and really old. It also has two gold stripes along the side."
Hermione pursued her lips as her gaze wandered toward the gigantic pile of books Draco had collected. Both Draco and she started to examine each of the books closely, until they both had started another pile; the rejected ones and the possible ones, but neither seemed to fit the characteristics they looked for. After a half hour Hermione sighed annoyed.
"What if it doesn't work?" she asked rather peevishly.
"Well it should work," Draco said, unperturbed as he inspected one of the books closely, only to carelessly throw it to the rejected pile and quickly grabbing another one.
"Have you done it before?"
"No."
"Then how are you so sure that it will work? It's not an easy incantation you know. It requires several wand movements." Her brown eyes were flooded in worry. It wasn't as if she didn't trust him, she did. She was just afraid Riddle would catch them in the act and do something to Draco, since he was the one who would be nicking the book.
He narrowed his eyes. "I know, but there's really no reason why it shouldn't work."
"But what if it doesn't?" she pressed.
He looked up at her, one brow raised. "It's going to work, alright? I'll put the book back after we read it, so he won't suspect anything. I thought you would've shown some enthusiasm after I told you. I thought you would be glad we were actually doing something."
"I am," she wheezed. "I just think we're going to need a second plan if the first one doesn't works."
"Well, I think it should work, because Riddle doesn't expect us to steal it, right? So then when he grabs the book, he'll expect to see his book, not another one."
Hermione nodded silently. "Yes, you're probably right."
"Probably?" he asked teasingly, raising one eyebrow. She rolled her eyes.
"Won't somebody else notice that Riddle's carrying a different book, though?"
"I don't think so," Draco said confidently. "He's been carrying that thing long enough, or he guards it in his trunk, either way everyone already expects to see him with it. As long as they expect to see the book in his hand, the Visum-ineptio charm will make sure that is what they see. We're the only ones that'll see that it's just a library book."
"Alright," Hermione answered, wondering why she couldn't shake the nasty feeling that was cooling in her belly. Though she sensed it had to do with the fact that Riddle wasn't dumb and sooner or later he would find out what they intended to do.
oOo
Draco ran through the plan in his head. Now that Hermione had informed him about her detention with Riddle Sunday night, he knew his opportunity to nick the book was close and if he let it go, then he might not get another one as good. Somehow he felt silly for giving the book so much importance. It was important, yes, but he sensed there was more to it than just getting the stupid book.
Getting the book meant much more to him than it probably meant to Hermione, as foolish as that sounded.
Maybe it wasn't just the idea of knowing what Riddle was up to, was really up to. He didn't care as much as Hermione as to what the book contained. It was the vision of doing something right, something that he wasn't obligated to do. Draco felt as if he needed to prove something to himself, a point, though he just wasn't exactly sure what that point would be yet.
When he had been younger, he had used to watch people walk by, looking happy and refreshed. He had found himself envying the simplicity of their choices. But now, he had a choice. For the first time in his life, he would surpass the limitations others had always set for him.
Because he was so deeply absorbed in his thoughts, he didn't even notice exactly where he was until he was already on the Quidditch pitch. There was no one on the fields, but as he raised his eyes he saw some players practicing. It didn't take him long to notice they were Slytherins, for they were wearing their matching training emerald and silver robes.
The Slytherins seemed to have a graceful, almost eerie playing style that moved them over the pitch like a school of fish. Draco saw how all the players peeled off and regrouped with dancelike precision, although he could see that the lead player called no directions from his broom. The broom, which ought to be the captain, moved freely in the air but what really caught Draco's attention was another player, whose moves were so swift and light it could almost seem like he had been flying ever since he was born.
He was almost better than the captain himself. Draco saw how the player ducked under a Bludger and simultaneously tossed the Quaffle over his shoulder. The ball arced through the air and was deftly caught by a teammate who had flown a perpendicular course directly underneath him. Draco had rarely watched a training session like this. As he stared, he saw how one of the players—the lead player which everyone followed— stopped in mid air and suddenly began to decline into a tailspin until he touched ground.
It took him a few minutes to realize that the figure was walking toward him. When he was close enough Draco saw he was rather tall and muscular.
"Hey," he called out. His forehead creasing as if he were concentrating on some thought.
Draco frowned. "Hi."
"We're practicing, do you mind?"
It took him a while to realize he was asking him to leave. Just as he was thinking of a clever retort he saw another player descending – the one that had moved so gracefully while flying - and walking toward him. In the sunlight he could only make out a slender figure and he realized this time it wasn't a he, but a she instead.
She stopped a few feet from him, her broom in one hand and the other on her hip. In the blinding sun, he saw her hair was tied in a high ponytail that swished in the air as she moved. Staring at her profile, Draco could tell she was angry. Her mouth had a tight, pinched look he'd seen many times before. He sensed the anger was directed at him.
She gave his partner a conspiring look and nodded toward the team.
"I'll take care of it if you want," she spoke. "They need your directions."
The captain squeezed his jaw and finally nodded. He threw Draco a dirty look before flying over to his team.
Draco narrowed his eyes, hoping to catch a better glimpse of her and saw that she was sort of attractive, but not quite in the conventional sense. She had long, straight black hair, her nose was just a bit too big, and her eyes were a little too wide set, but what struck him was the color of her pupils. They were a rare violet and as she got closer he noticed her eyes had a touch of light blue around the rims.
Lost in thought, Draco hadn't realized that she had asked him something and by the flustered look on her face, he sensed she had been waiting for his answer for a while.
"Pardon?"
"What are you doing here?" she repeated each of her words slowly as if she were talking to an idiot. One of her eyebrows shot up.
As she waited for his answer, she found herself focusing at someone who was at least 7 inches taller than her own five feet seven. She wasn't used to that, and as she tilted her head to one side, she noticed his angled cheekbones and fair skin. She would've been surprised at how pale he was, but as she was rather pale herself it didn't cause any shock. He had long blonde hair, almost white, and deep grey eyes. Up close he was good-looking—alright, really good-looking—but she suspected he knew it as well.
"Well, I don't know what you think I might be doing, but I think I made it pretty obvious that I'm taking a walk."
She watched him through narrowed eyes. "Listen, Justin, our captain, booked the pitch for the team today to train, so no one can be here unless they have a permit signed by professor Slughorn, which I am sure you don't possess. So if you can move along, I'd be glad."
"I thought he was the one to say that, not you," he objected. "Who are you, anyway?"
"I don't think that's any of your business," she responded coolly.
"Alright, you're right it's not." Draco shrugged. "But I think anyone's free to walk within the castle grounds unless someone forbid us to," he said haughtily.
She made an impatient sound and moved a few steps towards him. "Well, I forbid you to."
He raised an eyebrow. "I meant an authority figure. You know, someone who actually has a say in this castle."
"Well, I am in the Slytherin team and we so happen to be on the Quidditch field, so I guess I have the right to tell you the Quidditch pitch is occupied," she said sharply, clearly irritated.
Draco couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance. "It's not as if you're the captain of the quidditch team. You're just some player like anyone else."
That seemed to be the last straw for her. Her cheeks turned red and her forehead creased. "For your information, Justin was about to tell you just the same, I just spared him from having to deal with someone as stupid as you!"
As much as he wanted to yell at her, he managed to control his temper.
"I had no idea captains had someone that did all the talk for them. Though it seems to be very clever of him to choose someone as talkative and friendly as you are."
She narrowed her eyes. "Listen, we just need to practice and you just seem like a distraction here."
Draco smiled cockily. "My, my. I'm flattered."
"Oh, don't get your hopes up," she said through gritted teeth.
"I wasn't planning on it."
For an awkward moment they both stood still, glaring daggers at one another, until finally she just shook her head as if clearing her head of an unwanted thought.
"You know what," she said, shaking her hands impatiently. "Fine, stay here. I really couldn't care less."
Draco smiled smugly. "Fine."
"Fine," she repeated.
After another moment of staring at each other, she hopped on her broom and flew away. Draco watched her go until it was almost too hard to distinguish her among the clusters of emerald and silver. For a few minutes, he just stood there, pondering at what had just occurred.
Who was she, seriously? And why had he not seen her before? She seemed to be in her sixth or seventh year. Either way, he had no doubt she was somewhat psychotic and possibly a little disturbed. Not that he was entirely innocent, of course, but she didn't actually seem like a common girl. Definitely not one he would spend his time with, surely. He had spent most of his life surrounded by neurotic girls, the last thing he needed was another one.
But still, he wondered why he couldn't take his eyes off of her and why she had piqued his interest.
He pursued his lips and made to leave when he realized he didn't know her name.
A/N: So what did you think? I liked it.
So let's discuss Draco and this mystery girl. Could she be his new friend or sultry enemy? Feel free to comment about it. I don't want you guys to hate her just yet, she's important in this story and I've been thinking a lot about her, and I really like her. I think she's got so much potential to grow as a character. And no, I did not forget to put in her name haha, you'll read it next chapter. I'm actually excited to write her scenes with Draco.
And there's Tom, where am I going with him? So he finally knows a remedy to his problem, he just has to find out how he's going to obtain the ring and who he's going to manipulate in the process. Oh, I'm so excited! I do hope this story is progressing and results appealing to some of you.
As for Hermione, I'm not quite sure where I'm going with her but I have some ideas.
I have some homework to do so I'll leave you now. It takes weeks to write but just seconds to review so do it for me? Please?
Hope you're well, and I'll try to write soon.