By now Charlotte and Tom were quite used to roaming the halls of Hogwarts when everyone else was in bed. On Tuesday night, as planned, they made their way back to the dungeon before morning. Almost.

Something startled Charlotte and she grabbed ahold of Tom's wrist. "Did you hear something?" she asked in a whisper.

"No," he answered, trying to pull his arm out of her grasp, but her grip was too tight. "What would it be that you should be this scared anyway?"

"The attacks always happen at night…"

"To Mudbloods, not people like us."

She was still uneasy as they continued walking. He could feel her tenseness, feeding into him, through her touch— she was holding his hand now; it was annoying him, and he didn't feel a direct enough responsibility for her fear to enjoy it. He turned to her to say something to get her to stop being so anxious— to her, reassuring. "Don't be afraid. I won't let anything happen to you." He could promise this—not that it mattered if it was true or not. For him, it was a reminder that he was in control of the threat the castle was under, which was something he liked to think of as often as he could. Both hands now on her waist, he kissed her. Then he too heard something; he abruptly pulled his lips away from hers, suddenly saying, "We should hurry back though." A small smile on her face, she nodded, took his hand again and carried on down the corridor.

Before they could turn the corner, however, the sound of footsteps of one making no effort to conceal themself was heard, followed by a voice sharply saying, "Stop!" And then, "Incendio!" The torches lining the wall they were closest to were set alight. The voice belonged to Professor Merrythought, so Charlotte was calm enough—no longer afraid of the attacker trailing them—as she faced their teacher. She dropped her gaze and inched away from Tom, as if that space now would make any difference in the accusation upon them. "Oh. It's you two," Professor Merrythought said. "Raina!" she called around the corner. Professor Runewood appeared, followed by a floating, statuesque figure. Another petrification. Charlotte went a bit pale as she looked at the stone-like boy suspended there behind the two professors.

Professor Runewood was first to reprimand them. "I can't believe the two of you would be as foolish as this, to put yourselves in danger, wandering around when clearly," she gestured to the third victim, "it isn't safe!"

"You may be top of my class, Mr. Riddle, and Miss Soleil, you may, too, be very near top of the class—a formidable pair, to be sure—but I am also appalled by your carelessness." Professor Merrythought looked back and forth between them.

Tom stared at the ground with his arms folded over his chest, his muscles all tightened in fury; he was furious that somehow another attempted murder had turned into a relatively harmless petrification. He seethed with indignation, which the others would misconstrue as being a manifestation of shame for having been caught breaking the rules.

"We must ask if you can confess knowing anything about the attack," demanded Professor Runewood. Professor Merrythought turned her head in alarm at this question—good; so his innocence was already secured in her mind.

After Runewood spoke, she added, "Or if you perhaps saw anything, anyone, of suspicion?"

"No!" Charlotte exclaimed. "We had nothing to do with it!" Tom tried not to smile too much at her vehement denial, which was in fact wrong.

"Nor did we see anyone else," he said. "I'm sorry we can't be of any help."

"Very well. But you may be asked again, so I would advise you to make sure you can stand by your story." Professor Runewood gave them each a hard stare as she said this. He couldn't believe there was suspicion left in her, towards him. Somewhere in his mind he had thought all along that it was ludicrous that he created this alibi, because no one would suppose it to be him anyway, even if he were caught at the scene of the crime. Now it seemed that wasn't true. At least he had had the foresight to prepare for the worst. This was what fear did to people; it made them irrational. Removing the function of reason could certainly work to the advantage of one who wanted to rule over others, but in this case… No matter, however; he remained confident that the attacks would not be traced back to him.

"I'll escort you both back to the Slytherin common room," Professor Merrythought said, stepping forward.

"And I'll go up to Gryffindor Tower," said Professor Runewood, "to inform Mr. Rochester—the other Mr. Rochester—of what has happened." Neither of the women was paying attention to Charlotte's reaction, which was fortunate because it might have raised further questions, but Tom watched her carefully. He expected to see the curl of a satisfied smile at the corners of her mouth. But she didn't look particularly pleased; in fact, she looked uncomfortable and perhaps even concernedly perplexed at the seeming coincidence of this family's repeated appearance in her life. It was a good thing he hadn't done it for her, because he was getting no reward from it. Still, he was disappointed—disappointed in her for not feeling righteous at this discovery, feeling that justice had been done. Elliot would suffer in concern for his little, thirteen year old brother. Why wasn't she happy about that?

As Professor Merrythought led the way downstairs, she said, "I'm sure you are both aware that you will get detention for this. And someone will be writing to—" she caught herself and then glanced at Tom. "Well, Miss Soleil, your parents will receive a letter. And Mr. Riddle, if something like this were to happen again, it could jeopardize you being a prefect," she admonished him. Evidently she didn't want to see that happen to him, so she gave him a gentle warning—as if he couldn't have guessed at further repercussions himself. Charlotte, meanwhile, looked miserable, and more so when Professor Merrythought said this to Tom. Yes, clearly she was feeling guilt; clearly she was expressing her affection for him, the fact that she… loved him. It didn't spark a reciprocal warm feeling in him; instead, it did the opposite. How could she be so weak? Caring that her actions had negative consequences for someone else. Although if he thought of it another way, her reaction was appropriate. A person in submission to another ought to feel responsible for the impact they have on them, their master—their lord—and he was, after all, Lord Voldemort. He imagined that this was the reason for Charlotte's behavior, a subservient sense of duty. Although he knew it wasn't true.

...

Tom lay on his back staring at the ceiling, now returned to his dormitory on that Wednesday morning, waiting for the school to be told of another attack—another petrification, another failure of his. He had to try again soon. There was hardly more than a month remaining in the year.

In his head, he could hear the Basilisk's jeers. Unworthy… The half-blood Heir cannot live up to our expectations… He wouldn't be surprised if the Basilisk were somehow sabotaging him. After all, it couldn't be his fault that there had been, respectively, a mirror, a flood, and omnioculars at each of the attacks. Although only one of those things could have possibly been the snake's doing.

Avery was sitting up in his bed and looked over at Tom. "Too bad about you and Charlotte," he said. "Reckon it was worth it though." He smirked. Jealousy was plaguing Tom again, but he decided to let himself speak in that way to distract himself, and maybe it would make Avery leave him alone too.

He looked back at the other boy. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Avery laughed with a hint of nervousness. "Only that she's quite the good-looking one."

"Everyone's noticed that," added one of the other boys in the room.

In one movement, Tom sat up and swung his legs off the bed, facing the others. "She's spoken for," he said sternly. "You aren't allowed to find her attractive."

"I don't think any of us were thinking of trying to steal her from you," said Mulciber, with a half grin. The others, out of some combination of respect and fear, wouldn't respond to him; Mulciber, however, tested his boundaries at times. Tom gave him a cold stare to put him in his place.

He didn't see Charlotte again that day, at least at any close proximity, until the afternoon. She sat next to him in the common room and was saying things he assumed she meant to be comforting, but were really just irritating.

"I'm sure we aren't the first to have been in a situation like this," she said. The real problem he was concerned with—his mission as Heir and his… shortcomings—was something he believed himself to be the first to suffer through, so this was a comment that only upset him further.

After a while she quietly asked, "What are we going to do now? I don't think I could bear it they took your prefect badge from you and I felt it was my fault in some part. But I also can't imagine never getting to be alone with you again, throughout the whole time we're at school."

They could be alone, just not in the middle of the night; however, instead of reminding her of this, he said, "Maybe we should spend less time together."

She turned her head rapidly to look at him with worry. "You don't mean… permanently?" she asked slowly. He looked at her briefly. Her sadness didn't bring him twisted joy, nor did it repulse him; he simply registered that it was sadness. And he didn't know what to do. There was no explanation that he could be at peace with.

He had let himself go too far; she meant too much to him. It had to stop. And now was the perfect time, too. He had a believable reason. All he had to do was tell her that their relationship was causing him to do things he regretted—which, ironically, meant that he would be telling the truth—and that he couldn't do that anymore. No one would think it was strange. No one would become suspicious, including Charlotte.

She was still waiting for an answer. "Charlotte," he began in a serious voice, his tone verging on dark, sparing himself the gentleness that would be required if he actually cared about her. He breathed in, ready to speak—but the words caught in his throat. Then, a thought striking him, he said, "Do you still think your mother will want me to visit you this summer?"

He had forgotten until that moment the opportunity that would be lost if he were to end things with Charlotte then. The chance to be around a powerful, influential, pureblood wizarding family; he couldn't guess at all the things he might learn from that. Time away from the orphanage; for the first time in his life, aside from going to Hogwarts, the freedom to escape that place. He couldn't deny himself those things. Furthermore, he had told himself before that he would overcome this challenge and not let love force him to back away.

Charlotte replied with a relieved smile, although her answer didn't make her entirely happy. "It's hard to say. I can imagine her being upset just as easily as I can imagine her being dismissive of this. But if there's anything I can say or do that will convince her, I will."

He smiled and took her hand. Staring at their interlaced fingers, he tried to understand what he was feeling. He had no idea what he thought love was anymore. But what was essential to him was that he did not put Charlotte before himself. What might be best for her would not get in the way of what he wanted. Her feelings didn't matter, unless they threatened to destroy the relationship he had worked hard to build. As long as he got what he wanted, he didn't care.

And holding her hand made him feel… he searched for the right way to describe it; it gave him a sense of power, like he was drawing energy from her. He felt stronger because of it. Previously he had scoffed at the idea of love because he thought it made you dependent on another person. At that time, he never would have been able to feel this way. Whatever this way was. He couldn't say whether he loved her now because he couldn't say he understood what love was, but because he didn't know what else to call it, he supposed it might as well be 'love'. And still he wasn't dependent on her—but if being with her made him feel more powerful, he saw no reason to reject that feeling.