A/N: I've been stupidly busy, and will be for the rest of this week, so apologies for the delay-I meant to have this up days ago. Thanks, as always, for reading & reviewing! This is a long one... I was gonna break it up but what the hell, here it is:


CHAPTER XIII

The Yule Ball Pt. 3

[The Grounds | December 1943]


Now this whole thing that's started between Victoria Spektor and Tom Riddle is enough to tilt not only their lives, but the entire wizarding world, off course—and in a way neither of them can fully expect. It's one of those alignments that, in hindsight, when you examine the probabilities and alternate courses, you think to yourself what if this never happened? Was this the tipping point?

There's a warmth in the great hall so thick it sticks with the pair through the entrance hall and out onto the grounds. Snow is falling softly from the winter sky, and they tread slowly through the drifts at their feet. There are a few other students outside as well, getting some air, among other things. Spektor shivers a bit, the winter wind finally penetrating the aura of warmth surrounding her. Riddle takes off his jacket and she slips it on, drawing her arms in close to her body as he in turn draws her closer to him.

"So I was doing some research in the library about a rather esoteric subject and I was wondering if you couldn't maybe...help me figure something out..." He asks casually. She immediately knows what he's on about.

"Maybe I can...Depends on what you know." She says slowly, her eyes fixed on the ground to avoid twisting her ankle on an unexpected patch of ice.

"Well..." He says, grinning, "I found out some interesting things about devils...thought you'd be rather well-versed on the subject..."

"Not as much as I should be..." She starts.

"...Seeing as you are one." He finishes for her. She's trying to think of what to say next, although really, there isn't much she needs to say at all. The only sound is snow crunching underfoot.

"Nobody knows." She says, stopping, fixing him with a penetrating stare. There's fire in those dark eyes. He can feel it.

"Except me." He states. She nods. "Not even your family?"

"Well of course my father knows. It's his fault." She says, as though stating the obvious. Riddle's waiting expectantly for her to continue. "Apparently my father was involved with a deviless who worked at the Embassy in London (I'm sure you were at least able to find some info on that), before he met Victoria, who I've always thought was my mum. Just found out this past summer, actually."

"You just found out?"

"Got into an argument with my mum while she was drunk and it just sort of slipped out." She says. Then, in a high-pitched wispy voice mimicking her mother's, "At least you're not my child, what a shame it would've been to be responsible for giving birth to you." She laughs to herself. Then, in her own voice again, "I don't even remember what we were arguing about. I think she didn't like my attitude or something..."

"So you're half-devil, half-witch." Riddle works it out in his head. A half-blood, albeit a more sinister mixture, but still, a half-blood like him.

"An abomination." She says. "That's what They call me. And that's what your lot would call me too if they knew. Nobody can ever know. At least until I get it sorted out..."

"Sorted out?" Riddle's eyes light up.

"I've been doing some research. It's damn near impossible to find anything useful in the library here—as you've noticed I'm sure—and now that Slughorn probably won't give me any more permission slips for the Restricted Section after our...incident..." She drifts off, consumed with a thought. Riddle waits for her to resume, listening intently. "He suspects something. I know it. He's probably the only Hogwarts professor who'd know anything about any of this anyway...except maybe Dumbledore, but I don't think he likes me at all..."

"That's not surprising. He's definitely got his favorites. McGonagall, for one." Riddle says.

"You think we could—" She starts, but then stops abruptly.

"I like they way you think." He smirks.

"But if I use the imperius curse on McGonagall I'll be expelled, Tom." She says.

"Who said anything about using the imperius curse?" He says.

"Even if we used polyjuice potion...it's too risky. Really now, why would McGonagall ever ask Dumbledore about soul extraction?"

"What now?"

"Oh come on—I thought you did your research." She scoffs. He thinks for a moment, running through all the facts he's managed to compile about people— er...creatures like her. One book on defensive magic detailed how to spot a devil trying to blend in with a group of humans. He tries to recall the passage:

Devils rarely intermingle with witches and wizards, preferring to surround themselves with their own kind. However they do occasionally venture out of the Underworld, and it behoves wizards to be able to recognize them in order to take the proper precautions. These beings are charming, tricky, and at first glance appear surprisingly like their human counterparts. One easy way to spot one is to look at their hands—if you count six fingers you're in trouble. Next, the eyes will be completely black, with just a small bit of whites visible, if any. These beings also have no scent of their own, but this is a trait that can be easily covered up by perfume. Be on guard if you notice any of these signs, as you are dealing with an extremely dangerous magical creature that, despite having many similarities to humans, is missing one fundamental element: a soul.

"You're a devil with a soul. An impossibility." He muses, feeling her starting to shiver.

"An abomination." She mutters.

"No." He stops abruptly, turning to face her. The wind blows up loose snow, sending it swirling around them, a thousand tiny icicles slicing at their skin. "Not an abomination—an exception."

"That's a very...nice...thing to say." Is he being genuine? It's hard to tell.

"Why would you wish to be average?" He says. She rolls her eyes. That's not it at all.

"No, you don't understand. There's something very wrong. I feel it. Like my body's fighting against itself, trying to...destroy itself or something. It's painful." She says. "This has nothing to do with what other people think. I could really care less. I just want to be left alone, really." She pauses, thinking for a moment of the sheer absurdity that she's standing outside on a cold December night talking about this with Tom Riddle of all people. "I just want to be ok." She says. The mood's gotten so heavy it's unbearable. He nods, frowning, and...is that a look of pity she detects on his face? No. That won't do. After a moment she starts to back away from him. "So you know my secret..." She says in a slight singsong. "Now I'll have to kill you."

"You're kidding, right?" Riddle responds a little too seriously. She winks. He wishes she'd stop doing that. It's too much.

"We're still friends then?" She says, more seriously now.

"Again, are you kidding?"

"No. Wait, what? Are you?"

"No."

"Good."

"Friends?"

"What else?" She arches an eyebrow. "I stole cake for you...I went to this stupid ball with you..."

"Listen, Victoria..." He says, reaching out to take her hand, then pausing briefly to study it—her veins almost black beneath her skin, like thin inky rivers cutting through white marble. He keeps calling her Victoria, which she finds weirdly charming. Although she hates it when anyone else calls her that—preferring just the initial V.—when he says her full name it feels very intimate. She's waiting for him to continue. Then he meets her eyes again—reading her gaze as more greedy than affectionate.

"Yes?" She nods, offering encouragement.

"I'm...quite...fond of you...and if my suspicions are...correct..." He says, his grip tightening.

"They are." Spektor confirms.

"Good. So we've cleared that up..." Despite his calm tone, his cheeks are reddening by the second. "Right...I don't really know what I'm supposed to do...now that I've told you that..."

"You'll have to kill me, I suppose." She says. He blanches. "That was a joke." She quickly clarifies. Is she hitting a nerve? Probably. He exhales through a nervous laugh. "We're even, is what I mean. I told you a secret...you told me one...although I suppose yours is not really that much of a secret..."

"Oh come on." Riddle scoffs. "I suppose I'm like an open book to you, then?"

"Well..." She says with a mischievous grin.

"Victoria Spektor if you read my diary one more time I swear I'll..." He reaches down, grabs a handful of snow, and brandishes it threateningly.

"You'll what?" Spektor taunts. Riddle laughs a high, cold laugh, and lobs the snow right in her face. She shivers, her mouth falling open in shock, wiping snow out of her eyes. Then, without hesitating, she grabs a handful of snow and launches it at Riddle. Serves him right.

"Now look what you've started." He says, forming a large ball. She gets up, attempting to run away, but the snowball hits her square in the back and she tumbles into the snowbank. He runs over and bends down to try and help her up. Instead she grabs his arm and pulls him down into the snow with her, shoving a fluffy chunk of it in his face, cackling impishly all the while. He sits up, roughly wiping the snow off, and glares at Spektor. She's still laughing, pointing at him. And for some strange reason he begins to laugh as well. They're side by side on the snowbank now. A trickle of blood snakes from her nostril and he wipes it away. He didn't mean to hurt her, really.

"You know, it's almost as if you want me to read it..." She muses. "It's not like you're trying to make it difficult..." He doesn't say anything. Hmmmm. "Anyway, I've got a spell you can use to...secure it." She says.

"What's the point if you know how it works?" He asks.

"I'll show you. You'll like it." She says, staring up at the sky.

"Well...then, I've got something for you." He says, propping himself up on one elbow.

"You do?"

"Come here." He says. She scoots even closer, so close she can feel his breath warm her face. And suddenly his lips are upon hers, softly at first, as though testing the waters, and then he dives in. He envelops her, his body pressed close against hers, fitting as though they were cut from the same stuff. Her kiss is like a long sigh finally being released—his, a desperate grappling, his lips clinging to hers as though his life depends on it. Perhaps it does? Spektor is surprised by the intensity, but not put off by it. She ruffles his hair a bit before delicately draping her arms around his neck. She breaks away from his lips and plants tiny kisses along his jaw, then his neck. A shiver shoots up his spine that has nothing to do with the temperature. She retraces her path, now to his ear, where she whispers,

"A bit cold out here, isn't it?" She says.

"We should...go back inside..." He frowns, trying to catch his breath. He tries to move but she holds him still just a moment longer, locking eyes, placing another kiss on his lips, which he returns, before rising to his feet. She takes his hand, which he's extended, and he pulls her up out of the snow. After walking a bit she stumbles and slips on a patch of ice. He catches her just before she falls, and once she's steady on her feet again, he offers her his jacket to keep warm, which she gladly accepts. Once back up at the castle he brushes the clumps of snow out of her hair, and wipes away a bit of smudged lipstick from the corner of her mouth.

"If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were quite the gentleman, Tom." She says cheekily.

"An eye for an eye, Victoria." He says, and, following her example, he winks.

They're walking through the entrance hall now. A few clusters of students are hanging about, the ball still going strong in the great hall, adjacent.

"What the hell happened to you?" Pembroke snorts, catching sight of Spektor as the pair try to slip by unnoticed.

"Don't go outside, it's treacherous." Spektor says, not stopping to converse further. Hair all a mess—she looks like she's been swept up in a blizzard. Riddle looks only marginally less ruffled. But Pembroke notices whose jacket Spektor's wearing, the smudge of lipstick on Riddle's cheek, and smirks.

"Treacherous." Pembroke repeats as the pair fade into the crowd.


Spektor's nipped off to the girl's bathroom to try to put herself back together. With shivering hands she turns the hot water tap, releasing the steaming liquid into porcelain sink. She slides her hands under the stream, feeling the warmth start to radiate back to the rest of her body. Although she would normally avoid it, she chances a glance up at the mirror. At first it's fine, just her average reflection, and oh boy is her hair a sight. She waves her wand over her head in a sweeping circular motion, and her scraggly curls are once again bouncy and lustrous. She studies herself for just a moment longer, until she notices her teeth beginning to elongate, forming sharp points. Quickly she turns her head away, running her fingers along her teeth, feeling their smooth flat edge and breathing a sigh of relief. The new potion is working quite well. The side effects are not as pleasant as the draught of dreamlife, but it gets the job done. No more creepy bleeding at least. But what's up with the mirrors, she still hasn't figured that out.

As she's leaving she encounters a group of first-years entering the toilets, who stand aside to let her pass. Behind her back she can hear them whispering.

Was that...you know...?

Who?
The one that just knocked out that Slytherin bloke?

Yeah. That her?

Think so.

You know what I heard?

What?

Spektor hangs around the entrance to listen. Even though they're whispering, the acoustics in the bathroom do wonders for amplification.

I heard she's got a thing for Ol' Slughorn.

Ewwww stop no way.

Apparently she's always in his office. Sometimes leaving after curfew...

The first years have a good giggle over this thought. Spektor shrugs and walks back to the Great Hall. Stupid first years. She finds Riddle with his arms folded, leaning against the stone wall, eyes scanning the room, a stern look on his face.

"Looking for someone?" She says, after sneaking up on him. He actually jumps.

"You sneaky bastard..." He hates surprises. Although he is beginning to grow fond of hers.

"Aha—my girl!" Spektor hears Professor Slughorn exclaim as he approaches from across the room. "Honestly, Victoria, this is the last place I'd think to find you." He chuckles, beaming. Seems he's dipped into the holiday spirits. Then he notices Riddle. "Well well, aren't you two quite the pair. You'll have to invite me to the wedding! Haha!" Thankfully, Dippet has just ascended the podium, signaling that it's time for the crowning ceremony. Riddle excuses himself with a curt nod and disappears into the crowd.

"I think you embarrassed him." Spektor says.

"I think it's about time. I worry about him sometimes...a bit too serious, if you know what I mean." Slughorn says. "To be honest, I didn't think you two would get along at all."

"I think you're making a lot of assumptions, sir." Spektor says.

"My dear girl, I'm an old man—I know far more about these matters than you give me credit for."

"Right." Spektor says, thinking about what the first-years said in the bathroom.

"Oh come on now, you're just as bad as he is—you need to loosen up..." He says, rummaging in his robes and pulling out a flask. "Just filled this from a new bottle of aged firewhisky, which I believe is your favorite..." She eyes it greedily. It is her favorite.

"Sir, you are a bad influence." She says, taking the flask, smiling cheekily as she raises it to her lips. Slughorn laughs. Then, ass the first drop of liquor touches her tongue, she collapses on the floor. Slughorn doesn't notice right away, but when he does, he almost collapses himself.

"Dear god, Victoria! Are you alright? Say something!" He's kneeling beside her, all the color drained from his face. Those standing near them back away quickly. He quickly collects her body from the ground and, before attracting any more attention, carries her from the Great Hall.


His feet fall heavy on the flagstone, echoing through the empty corridors all the way down into the dungeons. He sets her down in an armchair in his office, propping her legs up on a footstool, and then sets to rummaging through his desk. In a matter of seconds he finds a beozar and slips it into her mouth. He hovers over his unconscious student, watching her intensely, looking for signs of breathing. When she finally does heave a breath he almost faints again. Her eyes open slowly, at first not recognizing where she is, but the picture soon comes into focus. She's in Slughorn's office. What the hell is she doing there?

"Sir?" She says groggily.

"Thank god...I thought you were dead..." He says. His breathing is labored, his forehead glistens with sweat.

"Dead? Why would I be that?" She says, squinting. "What happened? Where's Tom?"

"Oh my dear girl..." Slughorn paces in front of her, "What's the last thing you remember?"

"I was standing next to you...we were in the Great Hall...you handed me a flask..." She struggles to recall. He nods.

"It was poisoned." He says gravely. Spektor's eyes widen.

"You poisoned me?" Her voice is trembling with anger.

"No no I would never!" He says, shaking his hands in front of him, resuming his earlier place near the armchair. "That whole bottle was poisoned. I just tested it. Was given to me as a gift. Just got it, actually." He stammers.

"Yeah? Who gave it to you?" She demands. Slughorn pauses. He can't lie to her.

"Albus Dumbledore." He says quietly.

"Why would Professor Dumbledore want to poison you?" Hah yeah right, she thinks, a likely story.

"The strange thing is that I don't even really like firewhisky. I'm much more of a brandy man myself. I just keep it around because I know that...well...its your favorite..."

"And you think Dumbledore knows that?" Spektor scoffs. "You think Professor Dumbledore gave you the bottle because he knew you'd pour me a drink from it and you wouldn't have any yourself. You sound awfully paranoid, sir." But she can't help thinking the exact same thing.

"I don't know. No, of course not. I'd never accuse him of that. Albus Dumbledore is a great man."

"Yes but is he a good man, sir?" Spektor says.

"I am so sorry, Victoria. I feel absolutely terrible, I meant you no harm—you must believe me."

"Of course I believe you." She says, shaking the Dumbledore thought out of her head for the time being. Something else, something much more useful, has just occurred to her. Whether he liked it or not, Horace Slughorn was now in her debt.

"I would offer you a beverage, but I have a feeling we won't be drinking together for a long time." He says, trying to laugh off the heavy mood.

"No, thank you though. But you could answer a question for me..." She says.

"Sure, my dear. What's on your mind?"

"Well..." She begins, but is interrupted when the door of Slughorn's office opens. Tom Riddle strides in, making a beeline towards the young woman in the armchair.

"Are you alright? What happened? I saw you collapse." The questions come rapid fire, like it's some sort of interrogation.

"Sorry to disappear like that. Apparently I was poisoned." She says. "Ask him, he knows all about it." She jerks her thumb in Slughorn's direction. Riddle swivels to face the professor.

"Poisoned, sir?" He asks Slughorn, who nods. "How?"

"It's...uh...my fault, I'm afraid. I offered her a nip of tainted firewhisky. Of course I didn't know it was tainted..." Slughorn watches nervously as a wave of anger washes over the young man in front of him. "But luckily I had a beozar handy...a potions master is always prepared, you see..."

"She could've died." Riddle says coldly.

"Well...I'm deeply sorry, of course. It was an accident, you know, a complete accident. I would never ever harm Victoria—would never dream of it." Slughorn stammers, sweating again. Riddle sizes up the poor, shaken potions master. Of course he didn't want to poison Spektor. Everyone knows he favors her over practically every other one of his students, for some reason or another. "Please, sit down Tom. I don't think Victoria will mind—after all, she was just asking for you a moment ago." Slughorn draws over another chair. Riddle glances over at Spektor, raising his eyebrows. She winks, blushing slightly. Slughorn puts a pot of tea on and brings it over. Neither student dares drink it first.

"So what was it you wanted to ask me, Victoria?" Slughorn says, after sipping his tea. Seeing as he neither chokes nor collapses in an unconscious heap on the floor, they decide it is safe to drink.

"Actually, it was something Tom wanted to know—I told him I'd ask you for him if I ran into you. But seeing as he's here right now, he might as well ask you himself..." She sneaks Riddle a look. He catches on. "See, he's doing some research on-"

"Soul extraction, sir." Riddle says, cutting Spektor off. "I was reading about it in the library but I couldn't find any comprehensive information on actually how that's done."

"My dear boy, I don't know why you'd want to know anything about that. Dark stuff, that is. Messing with souls. I wouldn't advise it..." Slughorn doesn't even connect the incident with Spektor in his office a few weeks ago.

"I'd just like to better understand it, that's all. It sounds so...strange..." Riddle says, then takes a sip of tea.

"Well...If this is just for...you know...academic purposes..."

"Of course, sir." Riddle says.

"You're right, it is rather strange...See, in order to extract a part of your soul, you first must split it..." Slughorn says, looking uncomfortable. "You know how that's done, I trust..."

"Yes. Murder."

"Right. So...there is one method I'm aware of...in which a witch or wizard takes a piece of their soul and binds it to an item...which is then called a horcrux."

"Why would someone want to do that?" Riddle asks. "Put a piece of their soul in something?"

"It's a form of protection—if your body happens to be destroyed, the piece of your soul inhabiting the object—the horcrux—is still alive..."

"Hmm. I suppose that would be...beneficial..." Riddle muses. He looks over at Spektor, who's listening intently.

"I hope that's a satisfactory answer. It's been a long day and I'm not really in the mood to carry on talking about such things."

"Yes, thank you. We should probably get going..." He places his teacup on the floor and rises to his feet. "I'll escort Miss Spektor back to our common room." He says, offering his hand to help her up. She's a bit unsteady on her feet, but other than that, nearly fully recovered.

"Good. Good." Slughorn says, "Make sure you drink plenty of water, Victoria, and get a good night's rest." Spektor nods silently, and allows herself to be lead out of the office by Riddle. As soon as they turn a corner she grabs the front of his robes, pulls him towards her, and kisses him. She breaks away immediately.

"Brilliant." She whispers excitedly.

"I know I am." He drawls.

"Shut up." She says, then kisses him again. She's finally got something to go on. This will be a much more productive holiday than expected.