Chapter Three: Slytherin's Greatest Treasure

Tom darted towards the black carriage ahead of him. His feet smashed through puddles sending icy water up his calves and into his shoes. Behind him, Clara was trying to keep up, an issue of the Daily Prophet covering her head.

Tom pulled open the door and jumped inside. Breathing a sigh of relief, he turned to help her in. But Clara was standing by the carriage staring transfixed at something ahead of her. The water hit the Prophet and dripped down the sides onto her trembling fingers.

"Clara?" he reached down and tugged her towards the inside. "Come on!"

She climbed in unsteadily. "What were those things?" she asked, shaking violently.

"What things?" The carriage had begun to move.

"Those horses… they looked horrible!"

Tom turned to look at her, curiously. The wisps of hair above her forehead had curled from the humidity and in the dark he could see the reflection of her eyes staring wide open toward him.

"You can see them?"

"Of course I can!"

"Well, not just anyone can, Clara."

"They remind me of… dying." she spoke quietly and turned her gaze out the window of the carriage.

Tom held his tongue. He didn't want to remind Clara of the person she had seen die by explaining exactly why she could see those Thestrals.

He could see them too… But that was a story he would not be sharing for many years to come.

Out the window, Tom could see the castle, gleaming brilliantly. His heart swelled in anticipation. This year to come, he was sure would be magnificent. There was nothing between him and glory, him and power.

The carriage rolled to a stop underneath the overhanging that led up to the front doors.

Tom hopped out, anxious to find his mates. The throng of people were swelling through the front doors into the Great Hall. Tom spotted Abraxas' blonde head in the distance. But where were Lestrange and Seville and the others?

Clara! He had forgotten completely. Turning around, he shoved through a cluster of girls who had been admiring him from behind and hastened back down the steps.

Clara wasn't by the carriage anymore… He walked past the Thestrals and past a reunited couple hastily snogging before they had to go inside.

How can she be lost already? He wondered madly. There were so many stupid things she could do and say.

She must have followed me into the crowd. He turned around and hurried into the castle where people were shivering to keep warm.

He spun 360 degrees, his eyes whirring across faces, searching for wavy blonde hair. And then he spotted her. She was standing against a far wall talking to someone.

Suddenly angry, Tom marched toward her. Seeing who she was conversing with, his fists clenched automatically.

"Turner," he hissed.

Clara turned around. "Oh, there you are Tom!"

"Yes, here I am. You would do better not to wander, Clara."

Edward Turner had narrowed his eyes.

"Edward was just explaining to me that-"

Tom grabbed her arm. "Let's go."

Clara blushed. "Sorry, we're, uh, going. See you later."

Tom couldn't explain the sudden jealousy that had welled up inside him, but no way was he going to let Clara talk to Edward Turner, the most self-righteous Gryffindor at Hogwarts.

"That was horribly rude!" said Clara, brushing Tom's hand off her arm.

"He's an arrogant fool, Clara, don't talk to him."

"He seemed perfectly nice to me. Offered to let me sit at their table and-"

"If you ever sit at that table, I'll-"

"You'll what?" she had stopped walking, her eyes narrowed. Tom turned around and found her face pinched with anger.

He could match that. His eyes always did the talking. No one could look him in the eye. He fixed a glare at her.

Her brown eyes glared steadily back at him. Tom clenched his teeth. "Since you don't know anyone here, just trust me when I tell you someone's a prick."

"Since you obviously have no manners, just trust me when I tell you you're being horribly rude."

Tom choked, taken aback. He was, for once, lost for words.

"Come on," he said angrily, walking again.

"Where are we going?"

"Dumbledore's office, he won't be at the feast yet if we're lucky."

They plodded along in silence for some time.

"So, why did you jump out of the carriage so fast?" Clara asked mildly.

"I just got excited. I don't get to see anyone over the summer."

"I can see why you love this place, Tom, its gorgeous… It's a real castle, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's real."

"Who had it built? Queen Elizabeth… or maybe her father Henry… although everyone knows he was a nutcase, doesn't mean he couldn't have built a-"

"The four founders, actually," said Tom grinning. This was a story he loved to tell.

"The four who?"

"The four founders. Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, and Salazar-"

"Slytherin."

Tom turned around, shocked. He found Clara's face just as confused as his own "You… know about him?"

Clara shook her head. "Well, no, but, I just knew that name… somehow."

Tom's curiosity in her had peaked again. He thought of the locket and the way her eyes had been glowing that night on the beach. He knew she had no idea who her mother or father had been… she was orphan.

Or was she? Perhaps she was lying… Tom hated liars.

He caught her face in an iron grip and noted her flinch satisfactorily. If he could just keep eye contact with her, he would know if she was lying. "Who are you?" he demanded.

Clara tried to pull back angrily. "You're supposed to be telling me." she replied defiantly.

Tom lowered his face until it was a mere breath from hers. He could see right into those clear brown eyes, searching them for the smallest trace of deceit.

He noted that she was trembling softly… trying to hide the fact that he was scaring her. Her face was deathly pale.

Dropping her face, he pulled back. There was a faint flicker in her eye as he stepped away.

"What? Did you think I was going to kiss you?" The words came out nastier than he had intended.

Clara's face turned stormy again. "That's the absolute most repulsive thing I can think of."

"Well, I'm glad we agree on something." he replied, watching her roll her eyes angrily.

"You're the one who wanted me to come here so desperately."

Why does she have an answer to everything? "I'm just curious about your locket."

"Yes, everyone seems to be…"

Tom studied her a moment longer. When she turned her face down like that, she looked so glaringly familiar that his body ached to know why.

"Come on, we need to hurry," said Tom. Dumbledore's office was close now. And if the professor had left already, Tom would have to sit through the entire feast before getting his hands on that locket.

He stepped through a doorway into the Transfiguration classroom. The shiny floors and dusty smell excited him. His second best subject after all…

"Mr. Riddle?"

Tom looked up to see Professor Dumbledore descending the steps from his office wearing a stunning sapphire-blue robe. He was twirling a knobby finger in his auburn beard and looking very curiously at Tom and the muggle behind him.

"Professor, could you spare some time? We have a problem of sorts."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes were fixed on Clara and if Tom didn't know better, there was an intense curiosity behind that twinkle.

"Of course, Mr. Riddle, of course," he said, waving an arm toward him and started back up to his office.

Tom ushered Clara before him and followed her up the stairs.

Dumbledore's office was small and densely packed with curious whizzing objects. Clara stood in the doorway stunned before Tom pushed her into a seat.

Dumbledore sat down in the lush armchair behind his desk and pressed his fingers together pensively. "So, what have we here, Tom?" The face he had fixed on Clara was one of unmistakable delight.

"I don't understand why you're so mad…"

"You wouldn't."

Clara stole a look sideways at Tom who was storming down the flight of stairs. "He seemed nice enough, just because he said he needed time to think-"

"He knows more than he said. Stupid old man, thinks he's so smart."

"I think you're just angry about the locket, because he didn't make me take it off." As soon as Clara had uttered the words she regretted them.

Tom turned around, his eyes glinting maliciously. "I have a feeling that if I tried to take it now, I could."

"Take it now?" Clara's hand slid instinctively to her chest until she felt its cold weight beneath her fingers. "You've tried to take it before?"

Tom turned around and started walking again. 'Take her down to the common room.' He mimicked Dumbledore. 'Seeing is believing. Think things over.'

"What a load of shit. I have better things to do than baby-sit you."

"You brought me here, not him." Clara reminded. She had the feeling that with every word she spoke, she was pushing Tom further and further toward the edge.

She followed him in silence, eyes down, carefully trying not to trip on the hem of her robe that didn't really fit.

Suddenly the ground beneath her shuddered and began to sway. An ear-splitting scream broke the silence and with surprise, Clara realized it was her own.

The stairway beneath her had suddenly broken away from the ground and was moving through the air. Clara wrapped her arms around a banister and shut her eyes.

She heard a dark chuckle as the stairway slowly stopped moving and came to a halt with a shudder.

"The stairs will do that now and then, let's go."

Clara remained glued to the railing, shaking. "What if it moves again?" She felt a warm arm wrap around her waist and ply her up. And then she wasn't sure if her heart was racing because of the stairway or because she was suddenly very close to Tom Riddle.

As soon as they were off the stairway, Tom let go and Clara felt a surge of disappointment.

The corridor they were in now was cold and dark. Clara followed the sound of Tom's robe swishing and suppressed the shivers running down her spine.

She could hear Tom mumbling something and then suddenly, a dark portrait before her swung open and a bright room was before her.

Stepping into it, blinking, she found the room to be packed with noisy students, flying objects, and bags of spilling candy.

When Tom stepped in, however, a hush came over the room. They looked upon him with fearful admiration and turned curious eyes to the plain girl wearing too-large green robes standing behind him.

A group of boys stood up from where they had been sitting before the fire. Tom greeted them with a smile and, one by one, they exchanged knowing glances.

Clara recognized Abraxas among them. "It's good to be back, eh Tom?" he asked, heartily.

"It most certainly is, Malfoy. Clara, let me introduce you to my friends," he said, grabbing her robe and pulling her out into the middle of their little cluster. Clara smiled nervously at them.

"You've already met Abraxas?" he asked. Clara nodded. "And here's Lestrange, Rosier, and Seville."

"You look like Lady Evelyn." Said the last, Seville. He was staring at Clara from under his long, dark lashes, his expression one of cool appreciation.

Abraxas inhaled sharply. "That's who you look like! I knew you were familiar!"

"Who's Lady Evelyn?" Clara asked, turning around to face Tom. She was startled to see his face contorted in surprise and… anger?

"I'll show you," said Abraxas. He took Clara's arm and wove her through the crowded common room. He took her to a far wall and pointed up at an enormous painting.

Staring down at Clara was a startlingly beautiful woman. She was sitting in a chair by a window, buttery sunlight dancing off of her golden hair. Her skin was pale, almost translucent and she was staring sadly at Clara through large, brown eyes. Her thickly lashed eyelids blinked quickly. No, she didn't blink. Paintings don't blink.

Then the woman took a pale, slender hand off of the arm of her chair where it had been resting and brought it slowly up to her chest. Clara's eyes followed, languidly, until the woman's hand came to rest on a golden locket hanging from her neck. Clara's heart was pounding. Why does she have my locket!

An iron hand clamped down on her shoulder and hot breath forced its way into her ear. "You lied to me." The tone of voice shot shivers up her spine. And then she was wrenched away from the beautiful portrait.

Faces breezed by her; curious faces, hungry for information. Clara was forced out of the tapestry hole and into the hallway before Tom rounded on her.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he shouted.

"Tell you what?" she asked, something choking the back of her throat for no apparent reason. She was acutely aware of Tom's gang who had taken their places behind him, threateningly.

"You're related to Lady Evelyn! It explains your locket! I was so stupid for believing you were an orphan!"

"But Tom, I don't even know who Lady Evelyn is." she said, tearfully now.

"You LIAR!" Tom shouted, brandishing a little wooden stick.

"Tom, come on… maybe she's telling the truth." Seville stepped out and placed a consoling hand on his arm.

Tom gnashed his teeth and shoved the stick away regretfully. "Heads room. Now," he said coldly, turning sharply on his heel and stalking away.

Abraxas jerked his head, beckoningly, and Clara followed, at a complete loss for words. Tom was terrifying.

Tom sat in an arm chair before the fire, staring blankly into the blue flames of its depth. He was so confused now, an emotion he loathed. Dumbledore had known Clara from the moment he fixed eyes on her, there was no other explanation for him to send them to the common room. And, as much as Tom wished it, Clara showed no signs of lying to him. She was as, if not more, clueless than he.

"Tom… that painting… did you see it move?" Clara's voice was small and distant, tunneling through his thoughts to register only slightly in his mind.

"Mhmm," he murmured.

"Of course it moved, it's a picture after all," said Seville, looking at her curiously.

Tom rubbed his eyes. "She's a muggle, Seville. Don't ask any questions now, I need to think." A stunned silence followed while the young men waited for Tom to speak.

"Alright…" Tom began. "Clara. Lady Evelyn was a woman who lived thousands of years ago, before the construction of this school. She… how do I put this lightly? She was a love affair of Salazar Slytherin's you might say."

Tom glanced at Clara to see her staring into the fire with a far away look.

"Anyway… Evelyn betrayed Salazar. Now, this is only speculation, but it is said that she was the one who alerted Godric Gryffindor to the existence of the Chamber of Secrets, after the four founders had parted ways. It was, most likely, her hope that no mudbloods be harmed."

"Salazar sent her away from him and married another, but not before giving her a gift. That necklace, right there," he said impressively, pointing to the locket hanging from Clara's neck.

Clara stared at him, eyes wide, trying to understand.

"Now, it was no ordinary gift. It was in fact, a curse. I do believe, as legend goes, that it cannot be removed without significant harm to the bearer… which would explain why Professor Dumbledore did not make you remove it."

He watched Clara swallow and shift her legs nervously. "Lady Evelyn supposedly tried every method she could to lift the curse, but to no avail. No one seems to know what its magic is. And then there are those who deny its existence altogether. Which you have just contradicted, seeing as its hanging off of you right now."

"It's cursed?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

Tom nodded. "The thing I don't understand is how you came to have it… You look just like her, Clara. But Lady Evelyn was a pureblood and her descendants were likely to be and stay purebloods. I just don't understand how it could have fallen to the hands of a muggle, or, if you're not a muggle, why you weren't down on the list for Hogwarts."

Tom paused then, eyeing Clara intently. "I don't know if you understand or not, but hanging about your neck right now is Slytherin's greatest treasure."