Baby Don't You Lie to Me by The Fratellis
By the time they make it back, everybody has shuffled inside for pre-dinner drinks. Cain's face shows no sign of protest as he walks them over to the usual group gathered around Tom, stopping with her standing between them.
The smile on his face does not slip even as he catches the smirk that has appeared on Tom's. Even as Tom ignores the fact that their arms are still linked together and steps closer to her anyway, a hand landing on her back as he whispers something to her. Even when she slips out of his hold and into Tom's to whisper something back.
"I don't see why - "
"Behave and I'll let him sit next to you at dinner."
"Sit next to me?" she hisses back, skeptical already.
"Us," he admits. "Come."
Tom whisks her away a minute later, leaving barely enough time for her to mutter something about introductions to Cain as an explanation. He is fairly restrained, at least, as they make the rounds; his only contact with her the hand on her back as he guides her from group to group. She is carefully charming, keeping the conversation focused on the new people she is meeting rather than saying anything about herself - or letting Tom say anything about her. She still has the feeling that nobody has quite warmed up to her, that they are whispering about what she is doing here as soon as they turn around, but at least the disdain and jealousy are no longer written on their faces.
Tom must be equally satisfied with her performance, because when he returns her to Cain he finally does pull away. He lets Cain wrap his arm around her waist and pull her in without any snarky remarks, without any snide glances, without continuously vying for her attention. He lets Cain be the one to pull out her chair at dinner, though he pulls her attention away from their conversation regularly, as if to remind them he is still watching.
After all, who cares if Cain is the one holding her? Everybody here knows she isn't really his anyway.
It is after dinner that the real entertainment starts. The part he hadn't told her about. A little initiation process for the new recruits. A test to check their abilities and see where they would fall in the ranks. Taking into account the usefulness of their professional positions as well, of course. February is always a busy one because it is when the majority of the new crop of Hogwarts graduates, almost all Slytherins, finally get their chance to try at official membership. They had moved from their ministry training into their official posts at the start of the new year, and this is the first meeting after.
Luckily, she has already been maintaining her sobriety throughout the evening. Unluckily, she isn't quite dressed for such an occasion - but then again, one is hardly ever dressed and ready when an actual duel comes.
Tom is the first one to stand when dinner ends. He let her stay with Cain. This is not a time to go picking favorites. Though he is sure they had spotted his fondness for her already, and would quickly pounce. Within seconds, people start standing and following his lead.
As soon as she walks into the ballroom and sees Tom standing on the balcony with a few of his inner circle already there, as well as the circle of younger people arranged on the floor, all holding their wands and looking around nervously, she understands what is happening.
Cain leans down to kiss her cheek, whispering, "Be careful, alright? It doesn't really matter for you anyway, so don't go trying to show off."
She knows this is false. If anything, it matters more for her. If she fails, it will only serve to confirm the rumors on everybody's tongue about the reason she's here.
Cain walks up the stairs to stand next to Lestrange at the front of the balcony. She strides over to the circle, an empty place opening for her right in Tom's eye-line. He smirks down at her and she smirks back, pulling out her wand. This is a situation she had never wanted to be in again, but she is here, and she is going to make it count.
The doors close and Tom gives a short speech, though she is not listening to it. Her focus is on the others, judging them, gauging their stances, trying to pinpoint their weak spots. Finally, Tom waives his arm and the spells begin to fly.
At the start, they are mostly harmless. Stunners and freezers, nothing serious. Each time a wizard or witch loses their wand, they stand back up and shuffle to the free space under the overhang of the balcony, lining up and waiting for the action to end. She keeps out of the way, letting them pick each other off, dogging behind others and focusing on her shields.
Quickly enough, the field narrows to ten of them, and it suddenly seems everyone's focus has shifted to her. Tom's favorite. They wanted to be Tom's favorite, to win his praise - especially the other woman, who turn particularly vicious. The spells are no longer so harmless, and she can no longer simply avoid them.
She darts to the end of the room, her back against the wall, one side at least protected. Tom's smirk turns into a brief chuckle as she waves an arm, a wall of fire seemingly bursting forth from her palm and forming a semicircle around her, cutting off any attacks from the right. He hears a shriek and looks away from her to see two woman rolling on the floor, robes and skin on fire. A wave of his hand to Carrow has them magically dragged from the floor to the sidelines and the fires on them put out. Healing will be taken care of later, after they have learned their lesson.
Cassandra strolls forward, exchanging curses with a wizard standing directly in front of her. A final one pierces his shield and sends him rolling to the floor screaming bloody murder as his legs snap just as Cassandra whips around to face another witch. Her turn takes her into a kind of curtsy movement, allowing a spell to whizz over her head and hit a second wizard who had just taken out two other witches and was now gunning for her. Boils erupt on his face. He tries to brandish his wand again, but Cassandra's wand arm shoots back behind her, a stunner taking him out of the game before he can.
A crack rings through the air as his jaw hits the hard floor, the sound unheard to her as her attention is already back on the other witch. Her wand spins back and now they are surrounded on all sides by fire, alone together and Cassandra's unhappiness showing on her face. She knows from the woman's choice of spell that this is personal to her, so she would take it personally too.
"That wasn't very nice," she says with a smile. "Why don't you see how it feels for yourself? Imperio."
It is the first successful unforgivable anybody has uttered that night. Calm washes over the witch's face and she turns the wand on herself, the same curse she had just said coming from her mouth again. This time, Cassandra waits until the boils have there desired effect, drawing screams from the witch as they pop and burn. She is still frozen on the spot per Cassandra's wishes. Cassandra walks up, plucking her wand and breaking it before stepping a safe distance away and setting her free. The girl falls to the ground, sobbing, covering her face in embarrassment. Cassandra lets the flames around them drop so the medics can get to her.
Three left now, Cassandra and a two wizards who are busy fighting one-on-one with each another. Tom recognizes both as freshly minted aurors, one a Macmillan and one a Rowle. She waits until Rowle disposes of the other and turns to her before acting, a gesture that means their exchange starts with grudging respect and the traditional rules that have long since been discarded in their other interactions actually being followed.
It is a snake that does it, in the end. A nice touch Tom knows is meant especially for him. Rowle shoots a stream of water and she throws up a barrier of flames, sending steam into the air that gives her cover to apparate behind him. The snake that appears from her wand wraps itself around his throat, squeezing his vocal cords. As he gasps for breath, she summons his wand to her. He tries a wandless spell but his vision has already become blurry and it does not land anywhere close to her. She waits, ready to put up a shield if one is needed, until he falls to the ground still clutching at the serpent and passes out.
Cassandra turns and glares up at Tom, her wand coming to rest along her side. Her hair has come partially undone and her dress is ripped, the red petticoat looking like a gash against her pale skin.
Tom does not turn away from her as he orders, "Avery. Mulciber."
Mulciber is out as soon as he reaches the bottom of the steps. She uses wandless and wordless magic to tie his shoelaces together on his way over, and he tumbles from the top of the stairs to the bottom, knocked out before he even makes the final impact.
Avery gulps as he steps over him. Tom can see from here he was shaking. He has never been one for this kind of fun, much preferring arguing on paper over arguing with wands. They are all out of practice anyway, nobody having made it this far without being too injured to keep fighting before.
She senses his trepidation too and puts him out of his misery quickly, putting him under a confundus charm and then telling him he was just going to go to the cellar to get another case of champagne. Several people behind Tom erupt in laughter as they watch him walk out.
Tom is amused as well, though he knew the two would hardly be a challenge. The next pair he has in store are much more inclined to do damage, "Nott and Lestrange."
Fortunately for her, Lestrange has never totally recovered from Tom's earlier punishment and his wand hand is weak, prone to shaking. Unfortunately, he still bears animosity toward her for it. Nott… well, he has a special inclination toward making women suffer, though it is typically consensual and done in a bedroom rather than in a ballroom.
She is like a dancer now, turning and bowing and jumping to maintain her spot between the two of them. It is a dangerous place to be, but also a wise one when she doesn't have time to run anywhere else. They are friends, so they are naturally both being careful not to seriously injure the other as they try to attack her, making them both hesitant in their movements. Tom can tell she was playing with them from the smile on her face, from the way she flicks her wand absentmindedly.
Lestrange is finally taken out by one of Nott's stunners, his hasty shield failing right at the moment she deflects it toward him. She turns to cast a spell that softens his fall, only for Nott to take the chance to pounce. He pulls her against him, an arm around her waist and his wand pointed at her head.
"I see what Tom sees in you, sweetheart," Nott quips, his voice low enough not to carry over to the crowd. "Perhaps he will let me have a turn next."
She turns her head, her lips nearly brushing against his cheek as she answers, "I think your bed is already busy enough."
Her hand clamps down onto his forearm while he is distracted by her mouth. He yelps out in pain, trying to twist away from her. Her other hand darts up to hold his wand. He is the one to let it go as he wrenches away from her, clutching at his skin which still feels like it is on fire.
She tilts her head and he takes the hint, backing up until he is under the overhang with the rest of them. She tosses his wand back and he quickly heals himself.
"What are you waiting for?" Tom growls at the only one of them left.
Cain descends the stairs gracefully and faces her. They both look up at him but Tom does not relent, the raise of his eyebrow sending a clear message.
"J'ai dit de ne pas se craner," he jokes, trying to lighten the mood as they take their stances. They have done this dozens of times, but never as adults.
"Je n'ai pas fait ca," she jokes back, a smile gracing her face again. "Prêt?"
He nods and holds up his wand. The duel is polite again, Cain ever the gentlemen, and Tom is just getting bored when she decides to play a trick. The avis spell sends a flock of white doves flying forth from her wand, flapping around him and obscuring his vision. An invisibility charm washes over her as he is occupied, so that when he looks around again he cannot find her anywhere. His eyes shoot up to Tom, suspicious, before he feels a touch on his shoulder. He turns, trying to catch her, but his hand closes around empty air.
This routine keeps going until, frustrated, he starts casting stunning spells as soon as he thinks he feels even the slightest breeze. Another few minutes pass before she can no longer hold back her laughter. She drops the spell as it is futile to keep it going any longer at this point, revealing herself leaning lazily against the paneled wooden wall to his side.
She has always been impossible for him to catch, and today is no exception.
"You look tired," she teases, her voice laced with magic, soothing him nearly to sleep as his shock allows her to slip into his mind briefly and plant images of rest there.
"I'm not," he responds, pushing back against her. If there is one thing Tom cannot find fault in, it is Cain's ability to retain control over his mind.
"Not yet," she says with a smile. She sees Tom looking down at them and knows he is growing impatient. As fun as their little display has been, he wants to see she can do this.
She runs for Cain, taking him by surprise as he dodges to the side and tries to grab her arm as she passes. He misses her leg swinging out as she ducks past him, hooking under his and making him trip. A sleeping charm to the chest and he is out like a light, but she falls with him and keeps the impact from being too bad.
She looks up at Tom again and he nods, acknowledging her victory, though his smirk has turned to a scowl. She casts the counter-charm, waking Cain again. They whisper something to each other as they go to stand, Cain taking her arm and helping her up. His lips land on the back of her hand as he bows to her before turning and walking back up the stairs.
Tom's eyes finally leave her when he hears Cain's footsteps on the top step. He hates the way she holds him. So soft. So caring. He hates the way she smiles whenever she looks at him. So easy. So true. He hates the way she is still smiling now, oblivious to Tom's unhappiness as her eyes track Cain instead. He gets the urge to push him down the stairs. Hard, without the mercy she'd given to Mulciber. Hard enough to snap his neck. To see it break, to hear her scream, to take her in his arms and remind her there is no way of escaping him.
"My turn," he mutters. The crowd around him steps back, pressing themselves against the wall or railing as he passes. He has never taken the floor himself before.
He walks up to the fireplace on one side of the room while she goes to stand at the other. They nod to each other and then both raise their wands, their duel much less chaotic and much more fairly matched than any of her previous encounters.
After ten minutes or so he gets tired of trading spells back and forth, each one being deflected, and finally advances toward her, a barrage of temporarily disabling but ultimately harmless curses flying from him. She reacts by dodging before casting a fog that fills the entire floor with grey smoke, enveloping the room in temporary blindness. He casts a shield around him and hears a few curses crash against it. Unlike his, her's are dangerous. Not dangerous enough to cause permanent damage, but dangerous enough to hurt.
A few moments later, the fog dissipates, and he finds her no longer standing in front of him. He turns just in time to knock back the curse that was about to hit him. She is standing only feet behind him now, a spell he has never seen before creating a wall of crystals in front of her which move by their own volition to block the curses he is throwing at her. He cannot see her wand moving, and yet balls and whips of glowing fire encircle him as he advances toward her, almost too quickly for him to cast enough water to put them out.
Finally, he casts a spell that is strong enough to send a web of cracks through the air, shattering her barrier. She is on the defensive again, wand frantically crossing in front of her to deflect his spells. By the time he has her trapped, she is nearly panting. He immobilizes her for the briefest second as he takes her wand from her, tucking it into the hidden pocket in her skirt.
"You do live up to your family crest, little harpy," he hisses, hand coming up to her face. His fingers brush against her cheek on their way to tuck her loose hair back behind her ear. His other hand is pressed against the wall by her side.
Her breath hitches in her throat when his eyes move over to capture hers. They seem entirely black, like a sky without stars. Her adrenalin surges even higher, making her woozy. He leans forward, his nose nearly brushing hers, and for a second she thinks he is going to be insane enough to kiss her here, in front of all of them.
Tom wants to, so badly. The way she fights is the sexiest thing he has ever seen. It has added another spark to the fire he feels when he looks at her, his mind completely ablaze with his want now. Kissing her feels like a matter of survival in that moment, as if the only air in the room that will soothe his searing lungs is the breath from hers. She is perfect for him, truly. The only person he has ever met who he feels matches him, and he wants everybody to know it. But the look in her eyes is only half desire, balanced by fear. Not of him, he knows. Of them. Of what they will think of her if he does this.
He resists satiating his desires, instead simply whispering, "Go get cleaned up. The dancing will start soon."
He steps away from her, quickly turning. He goes to stand in front of the new members, several of whom are still nursing their injuries. Cassandra feels everyone's eyes on her as she walks. Her footsteps are measured, the swirling panic inside of her carefully hidden, as she slips out of the double doors and down the hallway to the lady's sitting room.
The heavy wood door slams behind her and she falls against it, finally letting out a breath. She can't believe he beat her. He hadn't even broken a sweat. He hadn't even tried to hurt her.
No matter, she just had to get better. It had been years since she dueled anyway. She was just rusty. It hadn't even been a fair fight. She'd already been dueling for nearly an hour before facing him. She was just exhausted.
Except she knows she is not exhausted, not in the slightest. She is exhilarated. She feels like pure ambrosia is flowing through her veins - and she knows it is not only because of the fighting. She closes her eyes, trying to calm herself by controlling her breathing. In. One, two, three, four. Out. One, two, three, four. In. Out. In.
Her efforts are futile. It is too hard to focus on her breath when the smell of sandalwood won't leave her senses. It is hard to focus when her cheek still feels cool to the touch. It is hard to focus when the image of that little witch frozen and screaming is still burned into her eyelids.
A knock comes on the door, making her jump. She steps aside and pulls it open. Cain walks in and she closes it again before rushing toward the mirror and busying herself with unpinning her hair. His expression is a question she does not want to answer.
He waits for her to say something and when she does not he moves on, deciding to ask instead, "Are you ok?"
"Fine. See, not even a scratch," she responds, forcing a smile and waving an arm at him. She decides to leave her hair down and turns toward her ripped skirt. "I am afraid my outfit faired substantially worse, however."
"I can get Carrow to lend you something," Cain offers. He walks up behind her, arms wrapping around her, lips grazing along back of her neck.
A quick cleaning charm followed by a hemming charm on either side of the slit in the fabric to even out the rip has her looking nearly as good as new. She meets his eyes in the mirror to say, "No, thank you. I think I like it, actually."
"I know I like it," he responds with a mischievous smile, fingers toying with the strip of red crinoline now showing. "I hope you still have enough energy to keep your promise tonight, my princess?"
She turns to kiss him. He keeps hold of her lips until he runs out of air, holding on to her as if the second he lets go he will lose her again. He pulls away and lets them both breath only after she presses gently on his shoulder.
She smiles as she dodges another kiss, "For you, always - but shouldn't we head to the dance now, my prince?"
He walks her back as slowly as he can manage. The doors are propped open when they reach them, the room mostly full again, with the exception of those who needed more serious recuperation. A record is playing and what was once a battlefield is now filled with dancing couples. Tom is standing by the bannister talking to Avery. Most likely chiding him for his performance, she thinks. Tom's gaze snaps to them as soon as they enter.
"I should get us drinks," Cain mutters.
"Stay. Please," she asks, holding onto his arm so he cannot pull away. "Let's dance."
"Cass…" he starts, his tone enough of a warning without saying what both of them know.
"What's he going to do about it?" she reminds him. His smile grows again and he takes her hand to lead her to the dance floor.
Tom lets them enjoy their peace - or, more accurately, lets them put on a show of enjoying themselves - for a few songs before he entices her away again. This time it is just a whisper in her ear between songs and a smug glance at Cain before leaving from the ballroom. She prattles out something about business and follows.
He is waiting right outside of the doors with the folder from Macnair sitting in his hands. She plucks it up quickly, already knowing that he won't give her much time to review them before he takes advantage of her attention to demand a few dances with him. She takes a few steps down the hall to escape some of the noise, then leans back against the wall as she flips through the papers.
"So?" he asks after what feels like only five minutes.
"I would prefer to see the actual books before I put a wager down."
"I told you, Macnair says he's demanding a number now before he lets us see them to make sure we are serious, so make sure it is a good one."
"I can't read his mind - or the business' value - from here."
"It doesn't have to be the number. Just something good enough to entice him, and reasonable enough that he doesn't think it's a joke."
"Gambling is a notoriously risky business, on both ends. It could make 100,000 galleons this year and loss 200,000 the next. How am I supposed to guess what it's worth based on partial records from a few months?"
"He'll be expecting a price based on what it is making, not on what it could lose."
"How much do I have to take out for you?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Thirty percent," he returns with a dashing smile he already knows won't work on her.
"Bit steep considering, isn't it?"
"Considering what?"
"You are getting what you really want out of the deal already - another reason to demand the pleasure of my company. Ten percent. It really should be zero."
He leans closer to her, trapping her between the wall and his body, "By that logic, perhaps I should charge you extra for giving you the pleasure of my company."
She rolls her eyes, "Keep it in your pants, Tom. I already said I don't want it."
"It's sweet of you to pretend you were satisfied by that show you two put on earlier, but we both know you need something a little rougher to really get you off," he hisses. His fingers play with her hair as his breath raises goosebumps on her skin. "How long did you leave the bite marks there to remind you of me? Do you remember where they used to be? Do you look at them while he fucks you or does it make you too sad to think about how good it could be?"
"I don't -" she starts to protest.
He just chuckles. He can guess from the way she is bitting her lip that is not true, and he is right. He is a near constant presence in her dreams, splitting open more than just her shell of secrecy in them, leaving her waking up wet and wanting whenever she is alone for the evening.
"Let me remind you then."
His mouth descends on her neck, one of his hands holding her hips down against the wall while the other pulls her hair tight to make sure she cannot move away. His lips barely skim her skin. Soft enough not to leave marks, yet just hard enough to make her crave more.
The papers slip from her hands as her body relaxes into his, as the world blurs and she begins to lose focus. Somebody could walk in on them. She should know better. She should stop him. And yet that had all been true when his hand had crept under the table, and she hadn't even tried then. She can't bring herself to try now. It is already taking all her effort to resist demanding more.
"I said to act like a gentleman," she gasps out between uneven breaths, naively hoping he will bring an end to the situation since she can't bear to. His hand slips from her hair to her neck as he lifts his mouth.
"You said to find a way to get along. This is my way. I can be nice in public, little harpy - but only if I get to be mean behind closed doors to make up for it."
She thinks he must be hoping Cain will know they didn't leave just to talk, that Tom's point in pulling her away was to settle the score between them. If he is going to be this competitive every evening, she is sure she won't be able to hold out for much longer.
He kisses her now, the pressure of his fingers growing as he does to express his displeasure at the foreign taste on her tongue. Finally, he pulls back again, returning to her neck to soothe the spots he just touched with laps of his tongue. His hand slides down to her chest, fingers barely brushing against the fabric covering her skin, lingering where he knows he will get the strongest reactions as he moves downward. He can hear her silent gasps above him as she cranes her neck up into his mouth, can almost feel the air being drawn shakily into her lungs as she tries to suppress the noises that want to come tumbling from her lips.
His hand slips from her hip only to pull her leg up against his. She hitches her leg around his, drawing him in, her hips leaving the wall to crash against his. When he responds by placing a palm firmly on her ass and pushing her against his bulge, she shudders at the friction. He presses her back against the wall again, pulling her hair as he moves her head to force her to meet his eyes and then kisses her. Their kisses are all teeth and tongues, clashing hungrily against each other, both trying to dominate and devour the other.
Her hands leave his shoulders, slipping down his chest and reaching his belt. He lets her undo it this time. She unzips his pants and slips a hand in, delighting far too much in the shiver that runs through him in response. She wants to see him come undone in her hands. She wants to see the great Tom Riddle - as cold as a statue, as controlled as a robot, as unyielding as a god - lose himself to her.
He clicks his tongue in her ear, pretending to admonish her, "You pretend to be a good girl in front of them, Cass, but I know you. You would let me fuck you right here if I wanted to, wouldn't you? All the while professing that you didn't want it while never fighting back."
"Are you trying to pretend you don't already want to?"
"Not here, little harpy. Not yet. Be patient."
She realizes that he was not referring to his competition with Cain. He was referring to being mean to her. What he meant was he is not going to let her finish again. He is going to leave her wanting again, and this time he will not make the mistake of letting her have the chance to take out her frustrations elsewhere before the end of the evening. He starts kissing her neck again in response to the glare she throws him at the realization.
"I hate you," she says, voice nearly a sigh.
His lips move to her shoulder, his fingers sliding the sleeve of her dress to the side to make way for them. He bites down hard and then sucks, drawing a whimper from her. In response, her hand squeezes him ever so slightly, and he cannot hold back a groan. Except for when they are dancing, she is hardly ever the one to touch him, and he doesn't think he can take it much longer. He's going to explode into her hand if she does that again, and such a premature end which be disappointing after he's already put in so much effort.
He pulls her hands away. He pushes her arms back against the stone, holding her wrists in place. He lifts his lips from her skin to look into her eyes as they both catch their breath, still so close that they are basically sharing the same air.
"Invite me to come home with you," he orders.
"Why would I want to spend even more time with the worst person I have ever met?" she fires back, annoyed - at being kept waiting again, at how close he'd let them get before stopping things, at how she had been ready to surrender and he'd been the one to rebuff her this time.
He kisses her deeply, pulling away just when she starts to respond to his affections. He barely pulls back before responding, "I'll be the best fuck you've ever had."
"Someone's cocky."
"Trust me, Cass, once you experience my cock you'll understand why."
"I was just playing along, Tom. I don't want you," she snarls.
His right hand drops between her legs, pushing the fabric of her skirt aside. His palm brushes her panties, confirming what they both already know. They are soaked enough to wet his fingers even from such brief contact. He hisses, "Don't lie to me, Cassandra."
His fingers pull on the strap of her garter belt as he moves his hand away, the snap against her skin making her jump up against him again. She whimpers, half from the sting and half from the friction. He drops away from her and leans against the opposite wall, still surveying her with his eyes as they both fix their appearances.
When she looks up again after smoothing down her skirt, a flash of black fabric in his hand draws her attention. One of the bows formerly on her garter belt flits between his fingers before he smirks at her and shoves it in his pants pocket.
"Twenty percent," he offers cooly.
He's going to fuck her tonight. Bent over her bed. Laying down in it. Standing against it. He's going to fuck her all night long until she is screaming his name at the slightest touch, until her body gets into the habit of submitting to his desires whenever he is near. He can feel how close she is already and knows she won't be able to resist. Knows that if he offered it, she would happily ride out his hand or his leg right here no matter what she says.
"Twenty percent," she agrees with a nod, desperately wanting to escape his burning eyes as quickly as possible. She had made a promise to Cain already, and breaking it would not be easy to explain. "And 400,000 galleons. It's the most I could lose without caring, and it should be more than someone like him has ever seen."
"I will send Macnair a letter later tonight. From your home, I hope, Cassandra. Shall we go dance?"