"Drina Prewitt & the Time of
Sacrifice"
Chapter Two: Pulling the Wings Off Butterflies
Hogwarts, November 1, 1943
Each Hogwarts house had a room set aside among the dormitories for any HeadBoy or Girl that house might produce. The room allocated to Slytherin HeadBoys was tiny, scarcely bigger than a broom closet. It contained only a narrow curtained bed, nightstand, clothes press, small desk and a single chair; but it was private. The ancient stonewalls proved resistant to space enhancing charms so Tom had to shove his trunk under his bed in order to provide room for him to walk without knocking into furniture.
Vanessa was waiting for Tom when he returned from the common room. Though they had made no plans to meet that night, he was not surprised to find her thus: he had provided Vanessa with the password last week and knew she was not very original. Girls like Vanessa rarely had to be. Most wizards were satisfied only with their physical charms and Vanessa was an expert in the employment of those assets. She lay stretched out across the bed like a cat, the emerald green duvet contrasting nicely with her red hair. Her sheer linen nightgown covered her like moonlight and left nothing to the imagination.
Tom Riddle, however, was not like most wizards. He allowed Vanessa to believe him to be her latest conquest, but she was only a means to an end to him. He had little experience with witches his own age in ways other than friendship. Ever since he "saved" the school, Vanessa had made it plain that she desired to bed him. He decided to take her up on her offer.
"Tom?" Vanessa's heart shaped face turned up to his as Tom used his back to close the door behind him. She was a beautiful girl but Tom had seen many beautiful girls in his life. Even Muggles could possess physical beauty. One of the girls at his orphanage had been lovely enough to put even Vanessa's fiery beauty in the shade. That girl, Elizabeth, understood the dark aspects of beauty as much as Tom himself did. For that he would spare her when he revenged himself on his former tormentors.
Tom was far more aware of how the world worked than most, even those thrice his age. In order to rule the world he would need an education in arts known only in nightmares or fragmented legends. Such dangerous knowledge could not be acquired easily or cheaply and he did not have much money. Earning sufficient coin himself would consume too much time. Fortunately, there was another way.
During his summer at Hogwarts, Tom mulled over his problem until the answer finally came to him in an archaic text. His ancestors would have shaken their heads in disgust at how long it took their descendant to arrive at such an obvious conclusion – the easiest way to obtain a fortune was to marry one. Tom was somewhat old fashioned with regard to marriage: he firmly believed in fidelity and honoring one's spouse; the older code of marriage before love was considered a significant factor in arranging a union. As he weighed the idea in his mind, he decided he liked the idea of having someone to share his plans with and to come home to. A wife could also give him children to carry on Salazar's noble bloodline. He was surprised by how much he wanted children, a family. He thought he had given up on that dream in the orphanage.
Of course, the first step in creating his family was the selection of a suitable bride. His criteria were exacting and he spent the summer first considering, then eliminating possible candidates. He required an intelligent, pureblooded witch with deep pockets. A witch either already infatuated with him or who could be manipulated into falling in love with him. He desired a Slytherin but would settle for a Ravenclaw if necessary.
His final list consisted of just three witches. Then he submitted the final three to a last test: he needed someone whose wealth was not tied into manors or property but in readily accessible gold at Gringotts. Someone already in possession of great wealth who did not have to wait for an inheritance.
Someone like Alexandrina Victoria Prewitt.
Drina was the ideal candidate. On only child, with her father dead she would come into her full inheritance on her seventeenth birthday. In addition, she was charming, talented, and quite pretty. She had always treated him with respect and he enjoyed spending time with her, she even appeared to actually understand him at times. He would never be able to truly love her, the other children at the orphanage had seen to that, but Tom felt confident that he would come close. He cared about how she felt, a rare thing for him. The primary difficulty would be in getting her to see him as more than a classmate. Drina had never shown any sign of romantic interest in him, a valuable trait in a friend but bothersome for his current goal.
Tom researched romance and formulated a strategy. He experimented on a little Hufflepuff witch from Hogsmeade, charming her until she was eating out of his hand and dropping her just before school began. However, his Hufflepuff had been almost as much of a novice at courtship as he and he felt the need for greater experience.
That was where Vanessa entered into the picture. In Tom's mind, Vanessa was little more than a classy whore, but she did know a great deal about sex. Tom was not a virgin, but his previous experiences were neither consensual nor pleasurable. He reasoned that in order to seduce Drina into marrying him, it would be best to be versed in such arts. The Hogwarts library was rather silent on sex and the few references he came across were drenched in enough flowery verse and sentiment to make him ill.
Vanessa's voice once again intruded on his thoughts, "Tom?"
Tom forced a seductive smile. He felt lucky only a candle on the nightstand lighted the room or Vanessa might have seen his insincerity. It was hard for him to feign affection for her at times. "Sorry, I was lost in thought."
Vanessa frowned. It was not her most flattering expression.
"I was contemplating your beauty," Tom continued as he glided toward her, knowing how much Vanessa appreciated such compliments. It was not even a complete lie. In his eyes she was beautiful, as a butterfly or a flower, and just as interesting. It was difficult to feign concern for her. He had to constantly remind himself of his reasons in his mind. She was too much like some of the children at the Muggle orphanage: willing to allow her good looks to be her sole vehicle forward. There were times when the features of the other Muggle children superimposed themselves over Vanessa's.
Drina was not beautiful, her looks a cross between pretty and cute, which was how Tom preferred girls. There was an intellect behind her bespectacled blue-gray eyes that Vanessa Rosier and her like would never equal much less eclipse. Pretty women could not play the appearance card as often and were seldom arrogant without cause. He supposed Vanessa possessed some as and yet unseen depths: she was a witch and a Slytherin after all.
Tom sat down on the bed, admiring the delicate ivory butterflies embroidered on Vanessa's nightgown. As she wrapped her arms around his neck, Tom closed his eyes and imagined she was Drina with her untidy brown-gold hair swept back in a loose bun and her glasses on the verge of sliding off her nose. He traced his fingers over Vanessa's lips, coming away with lip-gloss on his fingers. Drina never bothered with such things, another point in her favor.
"I don't think I will ever understand you," Vanessa whispered, drawing him back to reality and shattering the illusion.
Tom kissed Vanessa to silence, one hand moving to the tiny pearl closure of her nightgown. As she responded, he considered that, for once, she was quite correct in her assessment.
* * *
Drina heard Vanessa stagger back into the girl's dormitory hall at half-past three that night. She opened her door a crack to observe her classmate, planning to pop out and dish up a detention seasoned with a generous amount of sarcasm, but something stopped her. Even in the dim light provided by the redhead's wand, she could see that Vanessa's hair was askew and there were fading reddish marks on her neck. She wove around the corridor in an almost drunken stupor though Drina did not think she was drunk, Vanessa reacted poorly to alcohol and did not allow it to pass her lips. It was not at all unusual for Vanessa to return so late, but never had Drina seen her classmate so dazed and unaware of her surroundings. She even had difficulty with the door handle and the wards.
She considered the marks on her neck. A simple healing charm, that Vanessa was more than apt in doing, would remove most bruises in seconds. Vanessa was far too vain to dabble in anything that might risk her looks or health. It disturbed Drina more than she cared to admit – even to herself – that Vanessa were injured beyond that charm's ability to repair. There were healing potions for more troublesome injuries, but those contained ingredients either restricted or made scarce by the current political situation. Madam Rend would have a supply as school nurse, but she would have kept Vanessa overnight.
It was not until the next morning, when she reexamined the situation with a clearer head, that Drina realized Vanessa had been hit with a memory charm. It was the only solution that fit all of the evidence. Drina wondered if Riddle were the culprit or if it were someone else. It was possible Vanessa came upon someone (or several someones) up to something in the common room. Last year, three third years had used a memory charm on a second year that looked in one of the oft neglected and spider filled cabinets below the bookshelves to find a cauldron full of home brew. Drina discovered it after removing the charm, but said nothing. Instead, she analyzed the contents of the caldron and added an herb that would make them ill should they drink it. The lesson was learnt.
Drina wondered if Tom's tastes ran to contrary to Vanessa's willingness and shivered. It did not strike Drina as odd that she would suspect Tom. He lacked the galleons for most healing potions, but he did have wealthy friends and there was something very dark hidden behind his bright smile. It took one accustomed to certain forms of concealment to recognize them in use. Darkness left a legacy that if untreated could turn victim into tormentor in an endless circle of pain.
* * *
Vanessa liked things rough, just as Terry Nott told him. He only wished that he had not allowed things to get so out of hand that he had to heal her or risk Vanessa dying in his bed. The worst part in his mind was that he was not entirely certain what triggered his anger. One moment he saw Vanessa, the next her features blurred and rearranged into those of a pretty emerald-eyed woman he knew only from tattered nightmares. Tom did not understand why, but he felt he had to destroy her. He wrapped his hands around her neck and squeezed. It was only when Vanessa clawed at him, leaving bloody scratches like whip weals up and down his back that he was restored to his correct frame of mind and released his hold on the girl's neck. Pain once again proved his salvation.
Tom was thankful he still had some of the Gorgon blood Orion Black gave him in payment for using Polyjuice potion to take his place during the Transfiguration portion of the OWLs three years ago. Blood from the right side of the Gorgon's body could heal anything save death; blood taken from the left side was a most deadly poison. Tom stared at the two vials in his hands, marked only with an L for left and an R for right. He had already tested a tiny amount of the poison on an employee of his old orphanage his last holiday there. The man's death had been delicious. It was a pity that the children who tormented him the most were no longer there; but he would find them later. They were not worth another drop of his precious blood.
He put the blood away in the hidden compartment of his trunk and removed a third crystal vial, unmarked this time and a quarter filled with a thick amber-colored liquid. The Alipes Potion: used to restore energy. It was not easy, or legal, to make as it required eyes and feathers of a Golden Snidget among other things. A small sip nightly reduced his need for sleep to a mere hour. He had to take great care in its use, Moste Potente Potions warned of wizards going mad from too much of it. Tom restricted his intake to three or four nights a week and make certain to sleep extra long on the weekends. Now he wondered if his precautions were sufficient.
With a sigh, he replaced the vials in his trunk and carefully slid it under the bed with his foot. None but he or those he keyed to the trunk could open it. It was a gift from the Ravenclaw Morgan Trestle, whose brother was skilled in the make of magical trunks. She gave it to him last year in exchange for a few illicit potions of a most personal nature.
After he removed his hands from Vanessa's throat, Tom placed her under the Imperious curse – the first time he had ever tried it on a witch – to keep her still and quiet while he tended to her injuries. When he finished he cast the best potent memory charm he knew on her and shooed her off to bed.
Alone again, he stretched out on the bed and smoothed out his rumpled duvet and sheets. He was furious with himself for losing control. He resolved to prevent a reoccurrence, wondering again if it was a side effect of the Alipes Potion. Tom sighed; he already was forced to ration it now as he was running low on both it and the active ingredient. He would have to see Malfoy about more after he extracted the two galleons Livia Trenton of Ravenclaw owed him from her moneybag.
Tom resolved to exercise greater care in the future.
* * *
"Did you finish your Alchemy essay?" Drina asked Tom the next morning while Meg was absorbed in the paper. He gave no sign of having stayed up as late as Vanessa. It occurred to her that she'd not seen him tired in years.
"All three feet." He informed her with a bright smile. Vanessa had yet to come up for breakfast and she'd decided to make the most of the opportunity, mornings and nights were really the only times they spoke for any significant length of time. "I finished it a fortnight ago."
"What was your conclusion? I came up with dew," she asked. Unbeknownst to herself she leaned toward a little Tom.
"That would work," Tom said thoughtfully as he speared a sausage with his fork. "I used fog."
"Either would work," Drina agreed, studying him under her lashes. She wondered if she could find a way to ask Tom about last night, then decided it would be much too awkward. Vanessa was much easier to corner and question. Tom was as always a familiar mystery, and not one he would rack in a morning or a week.
* * *
Vanessa was a creature of habit during daylight hours, which made it simple to waylay her outside her dormitory and drag her into the Head Girl room. Drina had elected to challenge Vanessa after Arithmancy, while Tom was in Ancient Runes with Meg and the others.
As Drina hovered around the dormitory, waiting for Vanessa to appear, she discovered Meg seated on the floor in front of the tiny fireplace. Meg carefully removed a small branch of laurel from a small blue velvet bag and threw it onto the flames. Daphnomancy, or divination using laurel, was Meg's favorite form of divination. Divination was rumoured to be more potent around Halloween though the jury was still deliberating as to whether that was truth or fable.
"Are the omens favorable or not?" Drina asked. She did not have much stock in divination. Only the visions of true seers interested her – and despite years of attempts, Meg had never once managed a seeing trance - everything else was too open to chance and false interpretation. She would never tell Meg, but she thought the sort of divination taught at school to be nothing more than glorified parlour tricks.
Meg did not look up at her friend. "I'm still waiting."
"What about your class?"
Meg shot her a withering look. "I have twenty minutes yet."
"What do you want to know?"
"Whether the darkness will end soon," there was something about the way her friend spoke the word darkness that turned Drina's blood to ice water. For a moment Meg's shadowed face seemed ancient and all knowing like the descriptions of the powerful seers of old before the enemies of Merlin destroyed them. The moment passed and she shook herself. Lack of sleep always made her imagination overflow its banks and giving into ridiculous fantasies would not help anyone.
Drina sat down on the edge of Meg's bed. There were very few Slytherins in their year and with her own bed removed after she became Head Girl, the dormitory was wallowing in wasted space.
"Your laurel is burning quietly. Is that a good sign?" she asked conversationally. Meg's divination experiments were always amusing.
Meg sighed and shook her head softly. She pointed to her open divination book on the floor beside her. "If the laurel crackles in the fire the tidings are good. If it burns quietly, tidings are bad."
"Bad tidings then."
"So it would appear," Meg said in her most neutral tone. She was more than well aware of how her friend felt about signs and portents. "But then I didn't really expect anything else: I told you about
Drina slid off the bed and got to her feet. Vanessa was due to appear soon. "Don't be too quick to place bets on that outcome. Your laurel's been kept for months under your bed with a preserving charm. It might affect how it burns."
"It shouldn't, though fresh laurel is preferred."
Meg took out another branch.
"Going to see if love is in your future?" Drina teased. To her way of thinking, Daphnomancy was about as reliable as a coin toss.
Again, Meg shook she head. "I would not lower myself by asking something so trivial. If I am to have love in my life, I will. If not, I will cope. I want to know whether I will be able to join the Cecropian Order." The Cecropian order was a group of Slytherin alumni founded not long after Salazar Slytherin left Hogwarts. They were renowned for their skills at divination and their interpretations of ancient prophesies and visions. They took their name from Cecrops, a legendary half-serpent Athenian king. Many believed parselmouths – the great Salazar himself among them - were descended from his ill-fated royal house.
Mostly, though the Cecropian Order watched for darker variants of Divination. A true Seer did not need to force a vision, but prophesies and glimpses of the future did not come on call. It was possible to induce a vision, but that was very dark magic. There were rumours swirling about that Grindelwald's pet seer required the life of a witch's unborn child to force her visions.
Oblivious to the dark path taken by her friend's thoughts, Meg tossed the second branch on the fire. This time it began to crackle and hiss.
"You have your answer," Drina noted, glad of the distraction. She resolved to go to bed early before she started daydreaming of Grindelwald using the Unforgivable Curses in the school corridors. "I hope it proves true."
Meg's brown eyes were unreadable. "So do I."
Then Meg glanced down at her watch and frowned. "I have to be off, see you at dinner."
"Have a good class," Drina called out as her friend gathered up her books and scurried from the room.
Drina resisted the urge to pull her robes tighter around her. With Meg gone the room seemed very much colder, as though death's fingerprints somehow touched it.
"I'll turn in after dinner," she promised herself aloud.
Not five minutes after Meg left, Vanessa opened the door to the dormitory. Drina leapt up and grabbed her by the arm. Vanessa was too surprised to put up much of a struggle and the Head Girl was able to maneuver her classmate out the hall and into her own small room where they could be assured of privacy.
Once the door was firmly closed behind them, Drina leaned against the ancient oak door, arms crossed over her chest and wand out. She pinned her one-time roommate with what she hoped was her most penetrating stare. Vanessa wilted under her gaze but recovered quickly.
"What do you want, Prewitt," Vanessa sneered. "If it isn't good, I'm going to report you to the headmaster."
"What do you remember from last night?"
"Last night," Vanessa repeated, startled. Then she grinned. "I remember loads of things. Most of them are not fit for innocent ears such as yours."
"I saw you. You had bruises on your neck and acted as though you had been recently Obliviated."
The other girl laughed. "My poor little Drina, I'd tell you what I was doing but…it isn't proper to kiss and tell."
The shorter witch did not back down. "It is my job as Head Girl to inquire when there is reasonable suspicion of one student using a memory charm on another."
"I see what this is about," Vanessa purred, slipping effortlessly into what Meg referred to as her 'bitchy cat' mode. "You are jealous. I've seen how you look at Tom. I'm warning you – do not interfere with me or my boyfriend again."
The other girl straightened until her spine was more rigid than the door behind her. "Is that a threat?"
"A promise," Vanessa purred.
"I'll make a note of it," Drina said as she opened the door for Vanessa to leave. "Now, get out of my room. You add nothing to the décor."
* * *
Alchemy was not her favourite class – Transfiguration (even if it was taught by the absurdly cheerful head of Gryffindor) took that honour. No, alchemy was a challenge. Unfortunitly the class roll contained many names who were not up to that challenge and Professor Hermes constantly had to repeat himself.
"Some people have no imagination," Tom muttered to her as Hermes tried to answer a question posed by a Ravenclaw who displayed little of her house's reputed wit and cleverness.
The lone comment sparkled Drina's imagination – toned down to an acceptable after a decent night's sleep.
Known Facts on Tom Riddle
- Half-blood: Muggle father; witch mother.
- Mother: Melissandre Serthylin died of complications of childbirth, November 12, 1926.
- Father: Thomas Riddle. Living but refuses to involve himself with his son.
- Raised in Muggle orphanage, apparently an unhappy experience.
- Savior of the school:, caught Rubeus Hagrid with creature presumed to be an Acromantula.
- Won Magical Merit award for OWL scores.
- HeadBoy.
- Powerful magically.
- Studies constantly, but grades more attributable to brillance than hard work.
- Interested in current events.
- Poor.
- Currently involved with Vanessa Rosier.
- No close friends. Keeps own council.
Drina stuck the tip of her quill in her mouth as she studied the list scribbled on the bottom of her Alchemy notes. It was rather brief considering how long she and Tom had known each other. After a moment of contemplation, she made an addition.
- Very mysterious and interested in philosophy.
She raised her head from the parchment and stared hard at Tom. He sat to the right of her and appeared to be completely absorbed in the conversation between Professor Hermes and Gryffindor student Morgan Fletcher. The quality of his smile told her that he was amused by the exchange.
"So you see, Mr. Fletcher, ancient alchemists often obscured their work out of fear." Hermes explained for the eighth time. Most of the students watched the professors patience wear away with amusement and not just a little curiosity at what would happen to Fletcher. Hermes did not suffer stupidity gladly, but he was also under great pressure to raise his student's NEWT scores. Alchemy was said to be the most difficult of all the examination, both written and practical. "When Flamel created his philosopher's stone, the discipline came under intense scrutiny from the Ministry."
"I can understand that, Professor," Fletcher insisted. "What I don't understand is how you can take obtuse directions such as 'half an ounce of humidity' and come up with dew."
It took every ounce of Drina's composure not to burst out laughing. She wondered why Fletcher kept with this class; he had no talent for the subject. She supposed it was another example of Gryffindor stubbornness – the peculiar form often misinterpreted as bravery.
She made another note about Tom.
- Either extremely patient or good at feigning patience.
As Hermes answered, Drina's mind drifted again.
* * *
Drina had just made her obligatory appearance at the Transfiguration Club meeting (she was supposed to be Vice President) and was heading back to her room when she heard footsteps behind her. After a few turns – she was taking a rather meandering route back to Slytherin - she realized she was indeed being followed. She slipped her hand into her pocket and removed her wand before whirling around with lightening speed.
It was Tom. He halted in the middle of the hallway and studied her. His blue-green gaze was almost a spoken question.
She did not lower her wand slowly. Being followed annoyed her a great deal. "Yes?"
Her irritation slipped down him like rain drops on window glass. "Did something happen between you and Vanessa?" he asked mildly.
Drina tilted her head slightly. Her weariness impaired her ability to deliver a truly searching gaze, but what she could muster put any Hufflepuff or Gryffindor to shame. "Why are you so curious?"
Tom favored her with a brilliant smile. "I have a vested interest in our house. A house divided against itself cannot stand – much less win the House Cup."
Drina looked him over again, trying to glean further information from his body language. As usual, she came away with little: Tom was as revealing as a marble sculpture.
"Nothing out of the ordinary occurred between us. Vanessa and I are hardly friends…as you may have noticed." Drina reminded him tartly.
"Indeed," Tom noted. To Drina, he appeared to be almost laughing.
