AN: Faithful readers, how I adore thou. Thoust like a garden of roses in a chocolate river among a valley of gumdrops...or something.
X)
Like I said before, this fic is non-canon, so even the timing is weird. It takes place in 1943, but in 1943 in the original series Tom is a fifth-year. Here, he's a seventh-year and he hasn't made any Horcruxes yet, although he has murdered Myrtle and opened the Chamber of Secrets – there's a reason for all of this, I promise. So save yourself a headache and ignore the time, just go with the flow… Thank you for all the wonderful reviews!
"Hurry up, Hermione! I want some scrambled eggs before Abraxas eats them all," Elfy growled, grabbing Hermione's bag and shoving it at her before hustling them into the common room.
"Alright, alright, I'm going," Hermione grumbled, pulling her hair back into a haphazard ponytail and straightening her robes as they rushed down the empty corridors. "I thought you were dieting anyway?"
"I'm supposed to eat at least two sources of protein per day," Elfy said matter-of-factly, "and eggs count as one. A little asparagus on the side and I'll be good until lunch."
They arrived at the Great Hall and Hermione caught sight of her Gryffindor friends, smiling at them briefly before heading to the Slytherin table beside Elfy. She was in for an unpleasant surprise however, because when she arrived there Meredith was sitting next to Riddle.
In her seat.
Hermione, who had never been one for school drama, ignored Meredith's gloating smile as she sat a seat down from her usual place, squeezing in between Elfy and Abraxas, who pressed his leg firmly against hers. It was a tight squeeze and Abraxas bragged to her about his Seeker skills all through the meal when Elfy wasn't arguing with him, uncomfortably close and even leaning over to tug one of her curls once.
It was a long breakfast.
Hermione met Riddle's eyes halfway through the meal, her own questioning, but his black orbs were unreadable as he turned away from her to Meredith. "Meredith, would you like to attend the soiree on Friday with me?" he asked. The whole table paused in shock.
Meredith looked stunned, but a pleased smile quickly stole its way onto her face. "Of course, Tom. I would be delighted to." She shared an excited glance with Fabia and Parkinson, who each gave her a thumbs-up and giggled.
Regulus looked disturbed. He and Hermione frowned at each other, bewildered. He pointed from Riddle to Meredith to her: do you know anything about this? She shook her head: not a clue. He raised his brows: how strange…
All through Potions Riddle ignored her, only speaking when he needed her to hand him something, and even then he didn't so much as glance at her. Hermione struggled to control the anger bubbling like a cauldron on high inside her. What was his problem? In lunch she strode in a minute before Meredith did, but Riddle looked past her and waved Meredith over. Meredith strutted ahead of Hermione, shooting her a fluttery wink as she walked by, and a red flush spread from Hermione's forehead to her fingertips. Immediately, she spun on her heel and walked out of the Great Hall.
Tom watched her go, a little smile playing on his handsome lips.
Hermione didn't understand it. Riddle had been perfectly fine last night up until that episode between them, but he didn't really care that much about her going to Regulus, did he? Then again, he had said he would hurt him. Regulus had seemed fine this morning though… Ugh! And what was with him and Meredith? Did he fancy her? He hadn't seemed to care about her at all before.
As always, nothing made sense.
Hermione entered DADA a few minutes early, having gone there straight from Ancient Runes without seeing Minerva or Augusta in the corridors on her way. Inside, the windows blasted brilliant light into the room and the chandelier sparkled prettily overhead. Professor Chanté was bent over some scrolls behind his desk, scribbling hastily.
"Hello pro…" She caught herself. "Lucas." As long as none of the other students were around to hear her greet Professor Chanté so informally, Hermione figured she might as well call him by his surname like he'd asked. "What are you doing?"
He glanced up at her and beamed, that dimple in his cheek creasing, but his smile was embarrassed. "If I tell you, do you promise to keep it a secret?" he said half-playfully, half-seriously.
"Um, sure," Hermione said, surprised and forgetting her earlier anger for an instant as he gestured for her to come over. She walked up to his desk, checking his expression before she leaned in to read his notes. "Oh wow," she said softly when she'd finished. "Did you write that?"
"Oui, but it's imperitive you don't tell anyone," he said, tapping the quill behind his ear a little anxiously. "It's top secret. I can't have it going around that I write love poems, for Godric's sake."
She laughed. "No, it's…cool. Well, I think it is," she added at his dubious look, "You really are quite good."
"Maybe one day I'll publish them," Professor Chanté replied. His smile widened. "Thank you by the way."
She shrugged, embarrassed.
Students started to enter and Hermione made her way to her seat, where Minerva joined her soon after. She was playing with her quill, thinking how odd it was that Professor Chanté's poem was a mirror image of e.e. cummings' 'Nightingale.' Would he go on to adopt a penname and publish secretly in the future as a Muggle writer? she wondered. No, e.e. cummings' was born in 1894 and Professor Chanté is at most thirty… Maybe he was giving the Muggle writer his work, kind of like the conspiracy that Shakespeare had a ghostwriter?
Suddenly, Minerva interrupted her thoughts and whispered in an outraged voice, "What the hell are they doing together?"
Hermione looked up and instantly regretted it. Walking in hand-in-hand, like the Hogwarts power couple, were Meredith and Riddle. What the hell? Hermione stared at their clasped hands, shocked, and…couldn't make any sense of it. What was Riddle doing?
"I thought Riddle fancied you," Minerva said, frowning in confusion. "Did you two have a fight or something?"
"We were never together," Hermione said tightly and Minerva raised her brows at her caustic tone. Hermione's eyes, however, were on Meredith, who smirked widely at her when she caught her gaze. Her quill snapped in her hand, splattering ink all over her robes, and she gasped in dismay. "Oh, just fucking great. Now I have to change!" she cursed, taking them off and earning a whistle from some nitwit Hufflepuff in the back.
"New wardrobe, hm?" Minerva observed, her brows rising further at the sight of Hermione's attire and disappearing behind her neat bangs.
Hermione glanced down at herself to see what she was talking about – and beside the ink splatter on the edge of her right cuff – she saw the two undone buttons Elfy had made her leave open again, insisting she looked better that way. Admittedly, she had been getting more glances in the hallways and they weren't death glares either. Hermione shrugged at Minerva's sniffy tone. "Elfy wears her shirt this way. What's the big deal?"
Minerva muttered something under her breath Hermione didn't quite catch.
Professor Chanté strode forward. "Settle down, settle down, younglings!" he shouted, shooting a few dozen red sparks from the tip of his wand that ratcheted off the ceiling, and the class quieted. "Now, can anyone tell me what harpies are?" he asked.
Hermione answered, of course, and ten minutes later everyone was working in pairs and drawing diagrams of the half-bird half-woman beasts. Hermione was an awful artist, but Minerva was alright so she took over. Her friend, however, was soon overpowered by her bursting bladder and excused herself, scrambling from the room to the nearest bathroom. Hermione bent over their half-complete diagram, sketching in what looked like a baseball bat.
"Oh gracious," Professor Chanté said, appearing beside her, and she looked up. "Is that supposed to be a wing or a beak?"
"It's a claw," Hermione informed him tartly.
"Ah." He squinted at her picture. "Here, let me see." He held out his hand and she reluctantly handed over her quill. Standing back, she watched as he drew a rather realistic claw over her crude one. "There you go," he said, straightening, and passed back her quill, squeezing her fingers briefly when she took it from him.
He turned away to help the next pair of students and Hermione frowned at his retreating back, flexing her hand. That was odd.
"Wow, that's really good!" Minerva exclaimed when she got back, peering at the talon Professor Chanté had sketched closely. "I thought you said you couldn't draw?" she said skeptically.
"I can't, Professor Chanté drew it," Hermione admitted. "Mine was Troll-worthy."
"How much time do we have left?"
"A few minutes," Hermione said, checking her watch, "so we better hurry."
Quickly, they finished their sketch and handed it in just as class ended. Meredith, Dolohov, and Parkinson left together, and Hermione saw her chance as she spotted Riddle leisurely leaving the classroom. Oh, you're not getting away that easily, she thought.
She said a hasty goodbye to Minerva, making up some excuse about meeting a professor after class, and slipped into the line of students streaming outside. Once in the hall, she spotted Riddle take a right turn down an empty corridor and hurried after him, reaching forward impulsively and catching his wrist when she was close enough – instantaneously, a bolt of energy zapped between them, electric as a livewire and just as startling. She snatched her hand back and he whipped around. For just a second, Hermione thought he looked surprised too, but staring into his impassive black gaze now she was sure she had imagined it.
"Yes?" he said coldly when she didn't say anything.
Hermione took a deep breath. It was now or never. "Are – um – are you still upset over last night?"
"Last night?"
"You know, the…disagreement over Regulus."
"Ah, that... I don't believe there was any disagreement, Hermione. My intentions were quite clear. We made a deal to research-" His eyes met hers sharply. "-together and you went to Regulus-"
"But it's not like I told him anything, I just asked him about some stupid death omens," Hermione argued.
"Do you think he's smarter than I am?" he asked suddenly and she was so startled by this she simply stared at him, unblinking, for a moment. Irritation glanced across his handsome face and he stepped closer, upper lip curling. "Well? Is that why you went to him, because you think I'm incompetent?"
Hermione was bewildered. What was he talking about? Him, incompetent? Riddle knew just how incredibly brilliant he was, so what was he asking her for? "Tom, that's ridiculous," she snapped. "Of course I don't think that."
The look on his face, which had been bordering on fury, eclipsed at this. He blinked and it was like something had given way, like the monster peeking out from under the bed had gone into hiding again. He looked away. "What makes you think I'm still upset?"
Oh, just the teensy fact that you've been avoiding me all day, Hermione thought acidly.
"Well, you've been acting strangely today," Hermione hedged, watching him closely for some sort of reaction. She saw none. "Never mind, I…I guess I was imagining things." He didn't reply and she shifted uncomfortably. "Are we still meeting tonight? For…lessons?" she said to break the awkward silence.
"I can't," Riddle said, his face still blank, and Hermione frowned. He wasn't even pretending to be apologetic! What had happened to him? One second he had been angry and talking to her, and now he was…robotic. "I'm afraid I am previously occupied."
"With Meredith?"
For the first time all day, an emotion other than anger or abrasiveness did register on his features, but Hermione almost preferred 'the cold mask' to his smug expression now. "Perhaps," he replied vaguely and tilted his head. "Why so interested?"
"I'm not," Hermione said, maybe a bit too quickly, for a grin speedily joined Riddle's gloating look too. She glared at him. "Look, don't read into it, because you'll just falsely inflate your already oversized ego and then you'll pop. OK?"
"I'll pop?"
"Like a balloon." She paused. "Actually, I wouldn't mind seeing that, so if you must overanalyze things do go right ahead."
"If you are so intrigued by my social life, Hermione, just say so," Riddle chuckled and startled her by trailing the back of his hand over her cheek. Oh, so now he was being nice again? "For the record though, no, I'm not seeing Meredith tonight. I have Head Boy duties."
Hermione flushed. That was it? "Oh, er, sorry for…accusing you," she mumbled. Gah, how embarrassing, I'm apologizing to Lord Voldemort of all people. Not for the first time, she wondered how her life had come to this.
He rolled his eyes. "I forgive you," he said drily and, despite herself, she grinned at him, some part of her feeling oddly relieved by his admission. "Besides, I enjoy seeing you jealous."
Hermione gaped at him. He thought she was-? Of Meredith? Oh no, no way in hell! However, before she could tell Riddle this he spoke again, changing the subject. "Are you hungry?"
"A little-"
"Good, we'll go to dinner."
She bristled a little at the command. "Are you going to avoid me again?"
"Hermione… I did ask Meredith to Slughorn's soiree, I'm not going to just ignore her." And to cap off the statement, he cast her an incredulous look that seemed to say: how could you be so inconsiderate, Hermione?
What bullshit.
"Right," Hermione said tightly, looking anywhere but at him, although she wanted to bang her head into a wall. It did not make any sense. He was Voldemort and by definition the epitome of evil, expert in misdeeds, manipulation and all things cunning; he did not take girls to parties because he simply 'liked them'! No, something else was at play here, and she wasn't stupid enough to fall for it. To fall for him.
Across the hall Hermione caught sight of Augusta and Minerva heading her way and met Augusta's eyes with wide, pleadings ones: the universal girl code for help.
Luckily, Augusta understood and jabbed Minerva in the ribs, bringing the other Gryffindor to a grinding halt. She pointed at Hermione, saying something, and a minute later both girls skipped over to Hermione with large, enthusiastic smiles on their faces (well, Minerva's grin looked more painful than genuine but the effort was there nonetheless).
"Hermione, we've been looking everywhere for you!" Augusta exclaimed, widened her eyes in dramatic surprise. "I need to talk to you about – uh – you-know-who."
Hermione almost couldn't take the irony of that statement.
"Oh, that's right! I'll be there in a second," Hermione said, as if just now remembering she had an engagement, and turned to Riddle, who was smiling charmingly but looked slightly annoyed. "I'm really sorry but I have to go, Tom. I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Of course, Hermione," he said smoothly and cast a final glance about the three girls until resting his black eyes on Hermione meaningfully. "Good evening, ladies."
Hermione's friends watched him go; Minerva with slanted eyes, while Augusta had an embarrassingly puppy-like expression on her face. When he was gone she turned to Hermione, crossing her arms over her chest and tapping her foot expectantly. "Well, what was that about?" she demanded.
"What was what about?" Hermione said innocently.
Augusta pointed her finger at her threateningly and opened her mouth to reply, but shut it on second thought. "I… never mind." She shook her head with a sigh. "I heard about him and Meredith. How are you-" She paused, searching for the right word. "-coping?"
Hermione blinked, shocked for a split-second before anger came through. Her friends, too? Why did everyone think she should care whether or not he was seeing someone, least of all Meredith? I mean, even if she is a jerk, I don't care.
But didn't she?
Forget that last part.
"I'm fine," Hermione sighed and at their disbelieving looks added, "Really! Just because I don't like Meredith doesn't mean Riddle has to, too."
"But she's a bitch!" Augusta exploded. "I don't understand what he sees her in at all."
"Maybe he's just bored," Minerva suggested.
"And looking for a quick shag," Augusta said savagely. Realizing what she'd said, she looked at Hermione quickly, deep apology seared into her round face. "I'm so sorry, Hermione, that was stupid to say. I wasn't thinking! I bet they aren't even kissing or-"
"Meredith is a big slut. She stole Augusta's boyfriend, Oliver Bagshot, in our fifth year," Minerva interjected.
Augusta's face contorted with an old anger at that. Red-faced, she seethed, "He dumped me on Valentine's Day right outside Madam Puddifoot's and not an hour later I heard he was getting head from Meredith behind the Quidditch Pitch!"
"Oh yes, she's downright vile," Minerva added, seeing Hermione's shocked expression. "Meredith told Parkinson to spread the news around herself. She wanted to be sure it got back to Augusta that she'd been fooling around with her ex-boyfriend."
"I wouldn't mind seeing her fall off her pedestal," Augusta muttered, eyes dark with unforgotten grudges. "That rich girl wouldn't deserve one ounce of pity, considering all the cruel things she's gotten away with."
"Karma will come for her," Minerva said sagely. "She always does."
Hermione was walking back to the Slytherin common room when she felt a chill go through her, similar to having a bucket of ice cubes poured down your back, and she gasped, turning around to see –
Helena Ravenclaw.
"Hello again, young Slytherin," Helena greeted, regarding Hermione with cool, gauze-white eyes. "How are you this evening?"
"I've been better," Hermione replied, resuming her walk to the common room. The ghost fell into step beside her – well, not step, for ghosts did not walk, they floated – and her long hair swayed behind her in a rippling, silvery banner as she swept down the hall. "What brings you here?"
"You, Miss Granger. I must admit I am still intrigued by you even after our meeting yesterday." She looked at her. "I wonder why the Sorting Hat did not place you in Ravenclaw, you are very bright."
"Thank you," Hermione said automatically, but inside she was bewildered. As far as she knew, the Grey Lady was known to never speak to anyone except Ravenclaws and even then it was only to give students brief directions to class. What was she interested in her for? "Is there anything I can do for you?" Hermione tacked on uncertainly, to be polite.
Helena sighed heavily and she shivered as the ghost's exhale sent goosebumps and a little blizzard of ice dancing across her skin. "No, I am afraid there is nothing anyone can do for me now. Mine is a miserable existence and it is seldom I find myself interested in anything, having been around for the past millennium." She paused. "You, however, entice my curiosity – at least, for now – and we wonder about your extraordinary magic."
"We?"
"No one of importance, now that we are dead," Helena murmured, waving a long hand absently, and the gesture sent the long sleeves of her chiffon gown fluttering about like delicate, wispy wings. "How is that man of yours?" she wondered aloud.
"He's not mine," Hermione growled. Good Godric, even the ghosts thought they were together! "And I still don't understand him," she added, annoyed.
"I thought you said you 'didn't want to understand.'"
"Exactly, I don't," Hermione confirmed. "It's just that I have to put up with him one way or another, and he's so frustrating…"
"I've heard many – students and teachers alike – describe Tom Riddle, but none of them have used the adjective 'frustrating' when referring to the boy," Helena said, and if she possessed any other emotion than her general haughtiness Hermione thought she would've been amused.
"That's because they don't know him, not really," Hermione said darkly. She knew Tom Riddle for what he was, but she was bound not to warn anyone else away from him. Bad things happen to wizards who meddle with time, as Dumbledore once said.
Helena looked thoughtful. "Then perhaps you know him better than you think."
Hermione froze. No, she didn't…she didn't understand him at all! She was just the only one here who saw through his well-crafted, silky lies.
"The plot in you thickens, Miss Granger," Helena said, pleased, and dropped her chin in a small nod. "I bid you adieu, at least until next time."
She whisked around and swooped through a pair of first years coming this way, who squealed and dropped their books when they were startled by the freezing sensation of a ghost passing through them, and a moment later she vanished through the brownstone. Hermione, realizing she was standing right outside of the Slytherin common room, uttered the password and stepped through the entrance inside.
The common room was crowded as usual but several faces were missing, she found on arriving. Hermione double-checked and frowned. Most of the seventh-year boys were gone. Elfy, Parkinson, Fabia, and Meredith were occupying their usual corner of the common room, but Abraxas, Crabbe, Goyle, Dolohov, and Regulus were absent among others. Before she could dwindle on this further, however, Elfy waved at her from the couch, shouting, "Hermione! Come sit with us!"
She walked over and sat down next to Elfy, who shot her a smile and crossed her legs Indian-style, getting comfortable. "It's nice not to have the boys around, isn't it?" she said pleasantly. "We can finally get a break from having to constantly look good."
"Speak for yourself, Elfy," Meredith laughed, throwing her gleaming black hair into a messy bun, and as she did her shirt rode up, flashing a tantalizing glimpse of her slender midriff to a group of nearby fifth-year boys who kept shooting glances at the seventh-years. "I have Tom now. I always have to look good."
Fabia passed Hermione their latest delicacy: snowskin moon cakes sent to Meredith from Beijing. They were lovely little things covered in intricate, flowery designs and deep magenta on the outside, but the color of green tea on the fluffy inside. Hermione ate hers slowly, the rich taste of lotus paste and melon combined with Meredith's sugary smile as she recounted every waking detail of Riddle walking her to class almost too much for her.
"Hermione, you know Tom better than any of us," Meredith said, sucking a drop of icing off her finger with a soft 'pop.' "What dress would he like better? The green or purple one?"
Green. It was the color of Slytherin and he was the heir after all. Plus, he had an 'affiliation' with snakes-
"He won't care either way, Mer. What matters is underneath all that pretty wrapping," Fabia interrupted with a fiendish grin, plucking her bra straps for emphasis.
"Oh Fab, it's not anything he hasn't already seen before," Meredith said slyly, eyes on Hermione, who stared determinedly at her moon cake wrapper – which was now fisted in a death grip. "What color boxers does he wear, Hermione? I seem to have forgotten."
Hermione's head whipped up and – Merlin help her – that was the last straw. The others saw her expression and inched back, knowing what was about to come. "What – is – your – problem?" she hissed, jumping to her feet. "What is it about me that ticks you off so much?"
"Well, first of all, you're a no-good Mudblood who doesn't deserve to be in our house, much less breathe the same air we do," Meredith sneered, looking up from the sapphire bracelet she had been examining. Her eyes sliced into Hermione's like cut diamonds. "Secondly, you're a know-it-all. Third, you're a lying whore – however, I am the only one able to see it for whatever reason – and finally, I just don't like you."
Elfy looked furious. Fabia and Parkinson were staring on in mixtures of shock and glee. Uncontrolled, dangerous magic shuddered all around Hermione like the tremors leading up to an earthquake, unseen to the wizards and witches around her but no less deadly.
Meredith smiled, an oh-so sweet twinge of her glossed lips. "Shall I go on?" she purred.
"Shut your mouth, Meredith," Elfy snarled, wand out and ready. "I'll hex you into the next dimension if one more foul lie leaves your mouth."
"Me?" Meredith looked flabbergasted. "What's wrong with you? Can't you see? You're defending dirt! Wizard trash! Your parents raised you better than that, Elfy-"
"Oh, save the bullshit for someone who will listen," Elfy scoffed. "Like you know anything about manners or family – your parents are divorced!" She spun around to face the other girls, pointing a shaking finger at Meredith's suddenly pale face. "How do you think she gets all those gifts? Mr. and Mrs. Smith don't travel that often on business trips for the Prime Minister. They're in different countries for Salazar's sake-"
"Elfy, stop it!" Meredith hissed.
"Why should I? We're your 'friends,' aren't we?" Elphy laughed coldly. "Friends know each other's deepest secrets."
Meredith's eyes widened and she jumped to her feet, face contorted in an ugly snarl. "Don't you dare, Elfaba Wictz-"
"She's staying here for Christmas, like some charity case, and if she doesn't get her act together she'll be disowned completely," Elfy told the others. "She won't have a Knut to her name. No inheritance, no fortune, nothing. They're going to take her off the family tree if she gets pregnant again-"
SLAP.
Elfy stared at Meredith, a big red handprint on her pretty cheek, and the common room suddenly went quiet. Fabia gasped.
Chest heaving, Meredith spoke in a voice so chilling she could have frozen hell over with one breath. "I hate you, Elfaba."
She spun on her heel, stomping up to the girl's dormitory and slamming the door behind her with a resonating bang. Everyone flinched. Elfy, tears pooling in her sea-green eyes, slowly sank down next to Hermione on the couch. Conversation burst around them all at once.
Hermione took a deep breath. "I'm really sorry-"
"Don't be," Elfy interrupted, quietly. "I've wanted to do that for years." She brushed away the tears trickling down her face in a definite swipe and flinched when she touched her tender cheek.
"Here, let me," Hermione said, pulling out her wand and pointing it at the forming bruise. "Episkey," she cast and the mark quickly lightened, fading until it matched her skin tone again.
"Thanks," Elfy mumbled.
When the girl laid her head on her shoulder Hermione was startled. She'd never had many girlfriends, too busy with Harry and Ron to make any lasting friendships, and her boys had never been what she would call 'forthcoming' with their emotions. Sitting here with Elfy – even if she was sulky – was alright though, even nice. She'd always thought she was bad at girl friendships, but maybe she just never had a proper chance to give it a real go.
"For everything," Elfy added, cracking a little smile that quibbled on the edges. "Hogwarts was never this interesting before you came along."
Hermione snorted quietly at the ironic truth of her words. You're telling me.
"She wasn't all bad in the beginning, you know," Elphy said, staring down at her folded hands, which now glistened with fallen tears. "Before she started to like boys and hate everyone she was really fun actually… I loved her a lot." She took a deep breath. "But now everything's changed."
"Change can be good," Hermione said gently.
Elphy avoided her eyes and stared at the door Meredith had just left through. She frowned. "Maybe."
"This Saturday there will be a trip to Hogsmeade, as I am sure you all already know," Tom began, dark eyes flicking around the band of Death Eaters encircling him to be sure everyone was listening.
He leaned back against a desk behind him, crossing his arms. "Since I am unable to attend due to other duties I will require you all to keep a close eye on Hermione Granger." He met Abraxas' eyes sharply. "Be discreet. Don't trail after her like lost puppies or alert her to your presence in any way, she's...smarter than you think." And a Hermione Granger that trusted him even less than she did now was the last thing Tom needed. He wouldn't have his Death Eaters fucking up the progress he'd made with her so far and if things continued at the rate they were presently undergoing now, he would have a very powerful and useful ally by the end of the school year.
Or enemy, a paranoid voice whispered, and Tom grew irritated. Ridiculous. He would conquer her regardless. Her reaction to Meredith today had been enough proof of that - not that his new affiliation with the girl had anything to do with Hermione at all, it was actually more of a pleasant side note to the bigger picture – and Tom knew of all things jealousy was one of the key emotions to controlling a person.
"Yes, my Lord," his Death Eaters said in unison, interrupting his thoughts.
Tom searched the sea of faces around him for any signs of doubt, disloyalty, or unease. The boys stiffened as he did so, knowing what was to come when he selected his victim. It was a lesson they all learned time and time again: never disobey Voldemort, it will only bring you pain.
Becoming a victim was both a blessing and a curse, to be acknowledged by their Lord and singled out was a rare sign of praise. The pain they suffered showed their willingness, their devotion to follow him wherever he went – the pain, however, was the downside.
Voldemort smiled and they knew he had chosen someone. Abraxas, who had been picked the last two times, squeezed his eyes shut and prayed it was someone else.
"Regulus?"
A dozen pair of eyes swiveled up to watch Regulus Black gulp, lower the hood of his cloak, and step forward into the middle of the ring. Voldemort drew his wand and they all prepared themselves for what was sure to come, cringing as Voldemort raised his wand.
The screams began.
AN: Those are some Head Boy duties you've got there, Riddle... *tut tut* He's always up to something, isn't he? Side note: I just saw Les Misérable and it was amazing! *end side note* Thanks for reading and please review! The next chapter takes place at the much anticipated (at least by the Slytherin gals) Sluggy soiree. Meredith is going to be simply stunning. I'm so excited to see her and Tom realize their undying love for each other.
Ew. Mental images.