Chapter 7: Slughorn's potions class gets messy, and a re-assignment of partners is in order.
VII.
Put That In Your Cauldron & Brew It
[The Potions Classroom | November 1943]
Tom Riddle didn't quite understand what was happening. It was like somehow, without even orchestrating the slightest maneuver, the girl he'd been secretly eyeing during potions is now practically stalking him. It didn't make any sense. In the past six years they've been in school together, they never once were assigned to work on a project together, and never once exchanged conversation in the common room or at mealtimes. Now that he thinks about it, the only times they've ever spoke to each other were the occasions he caught her roaming the castle after dark, to reprimand her, which he eventually stopped bothering to do after her responses grew more and more hostile. Yes, that's the word for her. Hostile. Poison seemed to seep from her skin when approached, the air taking on a tense electrical charge. He'd be lying if he said that isn't one of the reasons she caught his attention. Her capacity for hatred is unrivaled among his fellow students. As well as her blatant disregard for rules. God only knows how she became a prefect. Slughorn probably had something to do with it. His golden girl. His potions prodigy. Riddle can't even begin to compete with her in that arena. A purely natural talent. Or is it?
"Now make sure you squeeze the juice out of the pigs' eyes before adding them to the mixture." Horace Slughorn says, pacing between the rows of desks, peering into simmering cauldrons. He pauses in front of Riddle and Fairchild's cauldron and frowns. "Better hurry up, if you let it sit too much longer it'll congeal..."
"Right, sir." Riddle grumbles, slightly frazzled, plunging his hand into the jar of eyes. He casts a sidelong glance at Fairchild, who is trying with every fiber of her being to not look like she's going to be sick. But when he tries to hand her the gelatinous organ, dripping with fluid, she covers her mouth and turns away, her tanned skin now a pale shade of green. "Useless." He mutters darkly. And so, as he's squeezing these eyeballs into the potion, which is now definitely congealing, he catches Spektor and Avery in the corner of his own eye—Spektor meticulously slicing the boomslang skin, Avery dropping the eyeballs on the table to see how high they'll bounce. (They don't bounce, idiot.) She sharply turns her head to look straight back at him. Her gaze falls upon his sorry excuse for a Serum of Second Sight.
"Cut them in half first." She says, just loud enough for him to hear, as the fluid leaks through his clenched fist. "And slice the boomslang skin, don't chop it—otherwise it'll dissolve into powder."
"I didn't ask for your help." He says, angry at himself for appearing so incompetent.
"Yeah, but you need it." Spektor says, pointing at his cauldron. "That stinks..." Fairchild flips through Advanced Potion Making, stirs the potion counterclockwise after Riddle drops the rest of the eyes in, and, while in mid-stir, vomits right into the cauldron. Riddle is furious.
"Useless!" He yells, abruptly pushing her away. He tries to scoop out the vomit with the spoon but it's no use. Slughorn descends upon the scene of the commotion, a startled look on his pudgy face.
"Oh dear..." He sighs, "Will someone take Miss Fairchild to the hospital wing?" Penderghast jumps up and escorts Fairchild, who is now weeping into her palms, from the classroom. "Ten points from Slytherin, Tom, for that outburst. You should know never to treat a lady like that. Or anyone, for that matter. You're Head Boy after all, and it's your responsibility good example for the rest of the students."
"Right...Sir." Riddle says stiffly. "I apologize."
"You are to come here straight after dinner and remake that potion." Slughorn says.
"You're giving me detention?" Riddle is pissed. He's never received detention. Ever.
"Don't be late." Slughorn says, waving his wand to clean up the mess.
Tom Riddle isn't the only one who must report to the potions classroom after dinner, as it turns out. When he arrives, expecting to find just Slughorn and a room of empty desks, he's certainly surprised to see V. Spektor sitting in her usual spot, cauldron already fired up, ingredients laid out neatly in front of her.
"You're stalking me." Riddle asks, confused to the point of irritation.
"You wish." Spektor smirks without looking up from her copy of Advanced Potion Making.
"If you expect me to believe you botched your potion as badly I did..." Riddle starts, squinting at the young woman, her shiny dark hair tied up in a green silk ribbon, eyes shadowed from countless sleepless nights. Just then Slughorn waddles in, a bottle clutched in his right hand. He gives it to Spektor, and she slips it into her pocket.
"Ah, Tom. I thought it might be better for Miss Spektor to walk you through the potion, and she most graciously agreed. I've assigned you two as partners from now on, and Miss Fairchild will work with Avery, you know, to keep the peace in our classroom and all that." He says, smiling. "Now get to work. I'll be in my office if you need me." As soon as the door closes behind Slughorn, Riddle turns to Spektor with a killer look.
"He gave you something." Riddle says, eyeing the bulge in Spektor's pocket.
"Sit down. You're wasting time."
"Don't you dare tell me what to do." He says, still standing there, towering over her.
"You screwed up your potion, made a girl cry, got detention, and now you're going to just stand there and watch while the best potions student in the school does your work for you." She says coldly. "Some Head Boy." Riddle has never been talked back to in such a manner. It seriously bothers him that he doesn't intimidate her.
"You sure think highly of yourself." Riddle scoffs.
"You know it's true." Spektor says. He does. Everyone knows it's true. "Sit down." He sits. They begin to prepare the ingredients. Spektor handles the eyeballs while Riddle slices the boomslang skin. They work in silence, efficient and precise, and in no time the potion is ready to brew. The finished product, the Serum of Second Sight, is a shimmering light blue. It is beautiful. Riddle gazes into the cauldron, marveling at his, no—their, handiwork. "See, you did it. That wasn't so difficult..."
"We make a good team." Riddle says before he can stop himself.
"We do?" Spektor says, raising an eyebrow.
"I mean...you'll be a much better partner than that Fairchild girl."
"You're welcome." They start cleaning up. Then she notices him stop, as if he's about to say something.
"What are you up to?" He asks bluntly.
"You mean...in general?" She asks, squinting, feigning annoyance at his vague question.
"You know what I mean." He says.
"You're the one person I'm not supposed to tell that to..."
"And why's that?"
"Head Boy..." She says, a devilish smirk creeping across her lips. "You'll have to report me..."
"I won't." He says quickly. "I would never."
"Ok then. Smell me."
"What?" He blushes.
"Go on. Take a sniff." She says, ignoring Riddle's embarrassing reaction, much to his relief. He steps closer to her, until they're only an inch apart at most, and inhales deeply. And then again. Nothing. No scent. No perfume, soap, sweat, or even skin.
"I don't smell anything...it's as if...my eyes were closed...I wouldn't even know you were here..." He says. Then he does close his eyes and sniffs again.
"Isn't that strange..." She hints.
"Inhuman..." He muses. A moment passes before he realizes how close he's standing to her, and takes a step backwards.
"You sure know how to give complements." Her sarcasm isn't lost on Riddle. And neither is the wink she gives him. He can smell himself starting to sweat. He twists the ring on his finger, his nervous tick.
"Sorry. You're perfectly human, I'm sure."
"Sometimes I have my doubts." She mumbles. He asked for clues, but none of this makes much sense. There's nothing he wants more than to run out of there and head straight to the library. But he needs to think up a good exit without leaving the option open for her to tag along.
"Don't we all..." He says, his face once more it's usual shade, his voice steady, deep, with its dull angry edge. "Listen, I've got to get going..."
"Ok. Have fun." She says absently. Have fun? He shoots her an exasperated look.
"Whatever that's supposed to mean..." He mutters to himself as he slings his bag over his shoulder and walks from the room. Glancing back quickly before exiting, he sees her flipping through the textbook, making notes. What a fucking nerd.
