The next evening, I leave the girl's dorms to find Tom already waiting in the common room for me. Like me, he's wearing his dress robes, but his don't differ enormously from his usual schoolwear. They're black, and serve to highlight his pale complexion and icy blue eyes even more. Mine, on the other hand, are a deep, emerald green, embroidered with silver thread. At surface level, the green serves to bring out my eyes, but I know that Tom will connect the colour with my house emblem; yet another ploy to bring him closer to me.

"You look nice," he says; a meaningless, insincere greeting, and one which fails to appeal to my vanity, as I am well aware that I look absolutely gorgeous.

"I know," is all I say in reply. To be fair, at least I'm being truthful.

"Of course you do," he says, huffing a quiet laugh. I think he's begun to get used to my blunt, frank manner, even becoming slightly entertained by it.

We leave the common room together and walk towards Slughorn's office in silence. Just before the entrance, he pauses, and I stop with him. He braces a hand on the worn oak door."This is your first Slug Club party, isn't it?"

"Yes," I reply, grimacing somewhat at the name for Slughorn's little cadre. "Professor Slughorn's never taken much of an interest in me before." No need to mention that it was a conscious decision on my part.

Tom smirks slightly, pushing the door open in one smooth motion. "Try not to get too used to it," he warns.

I offer him a hateful little smile of my own. "I'll try," I say sweetly, and shove him out the way so that I can enter first.

Slughorn's office is bedecked in greens and golds, lit by fat, flickering candles amongst photographs of past students, the light glimmering off their gilded frames. A large, mahogany dining table occupies the centre of the room, set with glittering silverware and sparkling crystal cut glasses. Every inch of the scene oozes wealth, comfort and luxury, but without taste or true appreciation for expensive decoration. Before we can take more than two steps into the office, Slughorn himself ambushes Tom, shaking his hand vigorously. "Tom, m'boy! How wonderful to have you here!"

"Thank you, sir," Tom says coolly, preferring to simply acknowledge the man's attentions rather than bask in them.

"And you've brought a friend!" Slughorn continues energetically. "Miss- ah-"

"Chambers," I say, a touch frostily. "Evangeline Chambers."

"Of course, of course!" he exclaims. "Do come in!"

Tom raises an eyebrow at me. I frown back, and he shrugs, offering an arm to lead me to the table. Once we're both seated, I take the opportunity to look around at the other guests. All high fliers, all with exceptional talent in some area or another. I've always understood Slughorn's need to "collect" the successful whilst they're young in order to gain power and control, but found it rather tactless. Besides, his power relies entirely on the success on others rather than his own prowess. Personally, I've always preferred to rely on myself alone.

The evening passes disappointingly unremarkably. All of the other Club members spend the entire meal desperately trying to claw their way into either Slughorn or Tom's good opinion, generally fruitlessly. It's clear that Slughorn adores Tom, constantly complimenting his OWL results or his immaculate coursework in potions. He invites Tom to stay for coffee after dinner, but Tom, probably sensing my chronic boredom, refuses politely and escorts me out the office. I begin to make my way casually towards the seventh floor and Tom follows my lead. "Where are we heading?" he asks after a few minutes of silence.

"The Room of Requirement," I reply.

He nods, then, after a few more paces, says "Might I enquire why?"

"You said it attends to the user's every need?" He nods again. "Well," I continue, "I am in severe need of a drink."

He barks his odd, harsh laugh. It echoes eerily down the corridor. "So," he says, recovering, "You didn't enjoy the evening?"

"I enjoyed it about as much as I enjoy having someone repeatedly cast the Cruciatus curse on me."

I can see his mouth barley suppressing a wicked grin. "And do you have much experience with that?"

"More than you know," I say.

We reach the seventh floor corridor and I turn to Tom. "Will you do the honours?"

"Certainly," he replies, smirking.

He paces along the corridor until the door appears, then opens it, ushering me into the same room we were in before. Except this time, there are two empty glasses perched precariously on the mantlepiece. I glance at him, pasting a confused expression on my face. "Why empty glasses?"

"Didn't I mention?" he says in a falsely innocent tone. "The Room doesn't do food or drink."

I, of course, do already know this, given that I built the place, but I settle for glaring at Tom. His smirk only widens, but he steps back out the doorway. "I'll go and grab us something from the kitchens," he says, then closes the door behind him.

Perfect.

Slowly, I look up at the portrait dominating the feature wall. It's lips begin to curl into a cruel smile as it stares at me, eyes full of savage amusement. Then it speaks.

"Hello, Salazar."