When Yasmina woke up two hours later for her transfiguration class, Tom was already gone. His cologne drenching her sheets and the soreness between her legs couldn't lie, though. It wasn't a dream, this time. A snake had really found its way into her bed. And she had invited him in.
She felt terrible. She had given herself to him without even a ring on her finger, like the most concupiscent, improper woman. If that information got out to the pureblood circles, her family would be ruined. As if they weren't already on the lines because of their views about blood purity. She grunted in despair, her face behind her hands. What had she done?
Something was definitely wrong with her. Because somehow, she was still craving it.
She was still aching for his touch, even though it had been more rude than soft. When she closed her eyes, she could still feel his lips on her skin and his breath down her neck. Her own breathing shuddered at her lewd thoughts. Even though Tom had left without a word, Yasmina was still hoping this hadn't been a mistake.
The spell. The secret. The love. The pledge. Everything.
Her thoughts followed her right to Dumbledore's classroom, where she met Eve and sat right next to her. Her tardiness had prevented her from getting a bite in the Great Hall, but there was at least one thing she could do to ease her discomfort and tiredness.
"Do you have a tonic?"
Eve threw her a curious glance, but ruffled through her bag nonetheless and discreetly handed her a small vial under the table. The Head girl patiently waited until the professor was looking away to gulp down the warm liquid.
"Bad night?" her blonde friend whispered.
"Eventful night," she replied, putting the vial back in her friend's hand.
She didn't elaborate. Yasmina would tell Eve, one day, but for now, those events were still too fresh in her mind to share. She had to take time to reflect on what had happened. On what she had given him.
Tom didn't shoot her a single glance during all four hours they were stuck in the class. He glared at Dumbledore all morning long, eager, a superiority smirk fixed on the corner of his mouth. If Dumbledore noticed that attitude, he didn't let it show and the lesson dragged on interminably.
The sight of Tom, unattainable but reachable at the same time brought her only frustration. And the uneasiness within her chest didn't fade at all during the morning.
When the bell rang, her heart stopped with it.
0o0o0o0
Eve had left for some rendezvous with a Quidditch player, so after an uneventful and lonely lunch, Yasmina climbed the stairs in direction of the library.
She heard him before she saw him, but before she could realize what was happening; someone snatched her from behind, pressing a hand on her mouth. Panic rose and Yasmina tried to scream for help, but the corridor was empty and the hand muffled any sound she made. She tried to kick her assailant from behind and happily heard a deep knock when her foot met a hard tibia.
"Ouch! Bloody Hell, calm down!"
She stopped pushing him away and gazed at the Slytherin once they reached a deserted classroom.
"For God's sake Theodore you scared the hell out of me!"
"Sorry, I thought it best if I snatched you discreetly," he retorted acidly, rubbing his leg. He seemed exhausted. The dark circles under his eyes were prominent, and he seemed even thinner than last night.
She stared at him. "You look terrible. Have you even slept?"
"Well you look well-rested for someone who hasn't slept either," the Slytherin snapped back, looking away.
She stared until his eyes met hers again. Of course he didn't know. Tom wasn't the kind of man who would shout it from the rooftops. At least, she hoped so. But Theodore knew her too well and easily noticed the slight blush on her cheeks.
"Goodness, Yasmina, aren't you scared for your family?" he let out in disbelief, shaking his head.
"Who would rat me out, you?" She snorted. "The other men in the cabin? I'm one of you now. I doubt it."
He froze, visibly hurt. "One of us? No, you're not one of us. Not yet. Not ever."
The arrogant laugh that passed her lips was all but Gryffindoresque. "I don't think that you're the one deciding, are you?"
He stayed silent for a long time. Then he discarded the newspaper he was holding on a nearby desk to free his hands and looked down at her, crossing his arms. "You've changed."
"With the years we've spent away, Theodore, how well do you really know me?"
"I know you enough to be certain that you don't want to be in. What you did yesterday – those pretty spells of yours – it was a joke compared to what we do. Running half a mile outside?" He let out a disbelieving laugh. "This is ridiculous. You'll never be ready to do these sorts of things and cast these spells, the real ones. As much as you may love Tom, I don't believe for a second that's who you are."
"I don't… You're not..." she paced around, agitated and upset. Theodore had a way to hit right where it hurt. "Maybe it was a one-time thing. But don't you think that the best way to make that decision is by telling me exactly what is going on? He wants me to plead loyalty to him."
The revelation took the words out of his mouth. He whimpered. "Even if I want to, I can't. You have to understand, I can't tell", Theodore insisted, running a hand through his slightly curly hair.
There, she saw it. It was almost indiscernible. But the pale lines, scarring the skin on his hand and wrist, were definitely there.
This was the mark of an unbreakable vow.
The Gryffindor grabbed his left hand and let her finger traces his skin along his scar. She opened her mouth in consternation, but Theodore shook his head. "I can't," he repeated and all of the things she would have liked to say remained deeply buried.
Theodore slowly removed his hand from her grip, his sight taken with the view of the tops of the snow-covered mountains by the window. "I believed in him. He knew exactly what to say to make me believe we could live in a better world, where magic would prosper and wizards wouldn't have to hide anymore. I trusted him blindly. We all did. But now? Now I'm just scared, Yasmina. And I have no way out."
The despair in his voice broke her heart. She reached out, a hand on his slightly rough cheek. He met her eyes.
"He's just a man, Theodore. He can… He can make you feel like the most extraordinary person on earth, but in the end, he's just a man."
Theodore scoffed. "I would like it to be true, but he's more than that. Power had flown through his veins for generations; he can do things no one has ever done before."
"He's simply talented and too ambitious for his own good. You don't have to torture yourself to please him." Yasmina removed her hand and turned her back on him, almost whispering for herself. "He isn't a good person, but he isn't all bad either."
Theodore grabbed her wrist, turning her around.
"You can't see what's right in front of you. Yasmina, open your eyes! He's not who you think he is! He's not good. He's…" Theodore struggled with his words and fell silent. He started pacing around, angry at his own silence. He suddenly stopped in front of her. "Please…please understand. You should leave while you still can." He showed her his marked hand again. "It isn't too late for you."
She remained silent. She couldn't commit to such a thing, not now. She wasn't ready yet to cut Tom completely from her life, especially since Theodore was as vague and mysterious as he could be with those empty words.
The Slytherin sighed in defeat. "Please stay alert and keep your eyes open. History might tell you what you seek to know. You simply have to make the links, Yasmina. Nothing is a coincidence."
Theodore left without further words, the sound of his riddle resounding in her ears. The newspaper Theodore had left behind on a desk was all yellow and wavy, as if it has spent days under the rain outside. Curious, she took a closer look. Even though the print letters had faded a bit, she could still read the articles.
Nothing is a coincidence.
She grabbed the paper and left.
0o0o0o0
The newspaper remained in her bag for a week, then two. February faded into March, but the snow outside didn't melt, and the temperature didn't rise. The rain of the past days had turned into ice, making every trip outside a perilous expedition for unaware walkers.
She was in the Great Hall, ruffling through her bag for owl treats when Yasmina found the newspaper again. Most of the students were outside in the Quidditch pit for the match opposing Ravenclaw to Hufflepuff. But Yasmina didn't feel like standing in the cold for hours to cheer for a stranger team. It was very quiet, so she decided to give a second look at the newspaper, opening it next to her bowl of fruits.
Most of the headlines were uninteresting. She quickly flipped the pages, reading the paper in diagonal out of boredom.
"Guilty: Morfin Gaunt charged with a lifelong sentence in Azkaban for murder."
The croissant Yasmina had held stopped halfway to her mouth. She put it back on her plate, her attention stuck to the yellow page.
"Morfin Gaunt, the last known heir of the Gaunt pureblood family, had admitted the murder of a neighbor muggle family in Little Hangleton.
She remembered Theodore's words, back at Christmas dinner. "Tom's mother was a Gaunt. Surely a muggle father can't destroy that whole line's purity"
She kept reading.
"Gaunt described the murders to the jury with a shocking level of details, but such abominable facts won't be shared in these pages. Without any opposition, the jury declared Gaunt guilty and Gaunt docilely followed the dementors to Azkaban. Unconcerned about the life sentence he was going to purge, the culprit merely repeated inconsistent words about the loss of the family ring.
Marvolo Gaunt, Morfin's father, is also currently serving a sentence in Azkaban for having attacked an employee of the ministry four years ago.
"Marvolo will be released in a few years, should his behavior change," said Emerit Coulry, a Ministry official. "Right now, he is in isolation, as he keeps threatening everyone that Slytherin's wrath will fall on them once he is released."
Such links between the Gaunt family and the founder of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry have never been proven."
The article ended there, on a picture of a deranged-looking man. The more she stared at the man, the more uneasy she felt. He kept caressing his bare middle finger as if something could usually be found there.
A weird pressure found its way into her chest. Morfin Gaunt wasn't the only one with that tic.
This didn't mean anything. Rings were quite uncommon jewelry for men, but then, it was just a ring.
Nothing is a coincidence.
Refusing to acknowledge the uneasiness within her, Yasmina went back to the article.
"…he keeps threatening everyone that Slytherin's wrath will fall on them once he is released. Such links between the Gaunt family and the founder of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry have never been proven."
Slytherin's wrath. Was the Gaunt family really related to Salazar Slytherin? As one of the oldest pureblood families in England, the possibility of such a thing existed. What if Tom was indeed the descendant of Salazar Slytherin? That could explain the power he held or the facility he always had with magic. Maybe that is what Theodore referred to when he said Tom wasn't just a man. And then what? What would a distant relative change?
She felt like she was missing a big piece of the puzzle.
Salazar Slytherin wasn't exactly famous for his openness toward non-pureblood wizards, but it wasn't a secret that Tom defended pureblood rights; even though he was a half-blood himself. But Slytherin was way more opinionated than Riddle about blood purity.
Her thought drifted to her fifth year, where she had learned more about the Hogwarts founders. She could never forget that school year, full of dreads and terror. She still remembered that precise night when professor Dumbledore had emerged into the Gryffindor tower to inform them that a student had been found dead.
She shivered.
Myrtle Warren had been killed because of Slytherin's belief that every student at Hogwarts should have pure blood in their veins. Hogwarts was full of non-pureblood wizards. There could have been so many more murders if Tom hadn't been there to find the culprit. As a half-blood, he could have become a victim himself.
"I have enough pure blood in my veins to compensate for my muggle father's side."
Her throat blocked her from swallowing another piece of fruit. It didn't make any sense.
"Surely you can't think we're following him around merely because of his charms and kindness"
Although Tom… Tom would not have been scared of Slytherin's monster as Slytherin's descendant. As Slytherin's heir.
"You simply have to make the links, Yasmina."
"Nothing is a coincidence."
Nothing is a coincidence.
Who else could have opened Slytherin's secret room in the castle and awoken a monster but Slytherin's direct heir? Who else could have been responsible for this tragedy?
Hagrid wasn't the culprit. He was the scapegoat.
Bile rose in her mouth and she ran for the washroom, barely making up to a cabin where she threw up the contents of her stomach.
This couldn't be. This couldn't be.
His innocent grin flashed in her mind and she vomited again, her belly painfully twitching.
How could have she been so naïve? Of course, Tom was Slytherin's heir. If Theodore hadn't talked on Christmas night to tell her family about Tom, she would never have learned the connection between him and the Gaunt family. All along, Theodore had tried to warn her.
She would have cried if she wasn't so overwhelmed by disgust.
She had to leave their quarters now. Now while he was at the match. She would move her things back to the tower and would never talk to him again.
Yasmina stood up from the washroom floor and rinsed her mouth with running water. Slytherin's heir. Slytherin's heir. He had killed someone. He had killed Myrtle.
"Unforgivable curses are only named that way because mediocre wizards can't execute them correctly. That not my case."
He wasn't learning unforgivable curses for academic purposes. He was learning them in order to kill people and to make them bend to his every request. He was controlling each and every one of his friends, and followers, to do his bidding. And none of them could get out once they were in, because they had sworn unbreakable vows.
Yasmina couldn't even try to imagine what he had made them do. That's why Theodore has begged for her to stay out of it. Because he knew that she couldn't get out. Just like Theodore couldn't.
Theodore…
God. What has he done?
She rushed outside the bathroom, then froze. Leaning on the opposite wall, Tom was waiting for her. She understood, now, why the green of his uniform looked so much better on him than on everybody else.
The visible worry on his traits looked genuine. "Are you alright? You look…" He stopped talking, taking a step forward, eyes warm, caring. "Are you sick?"
So manipulative. So Sly. So Slytherin.
She gagged again.
Hatred rose in her body just like the bile in her mouth at the sight of his innocent expression, the one he had learned to master so perfectly over the years. The distant shouts of joy of students outside could not overcome the increasing buzzing in her ears.
Murderer.
She should have left. She should have run for the Quidditch pit. The castle was so deserted that she should have. She took a step away from him, hand on her wand.
He took one forward, his eyes darting to her wand still in her pocket. "Please talk to me, Yasmina. I can see you're not well. I can help you."
"Help me like you helped Myrtle Warren? I'll pass, thanks."
The few colors he had on his face disappeared as the realization of her accusations sunk in. He wasn't looking innocent anymore. In the blink of an eye, Yasmina found herself in a dusty broom closet, her breath cut short. She reached for her wand, but it was already in his hand.
"You used imperio on me!" Yasmina cried, taking a step back. Her blood froze inside her veins.
For all she knew, he could kill her too.
By the muffled echo around her, he had soundproofed the small room. Nobody would ever hear her scream. He was blocking the door. There was no escape.
"You have to listen to me."
Even minutes away from death, her Gryffindor pride couldn't be tampered with. She took a step forward, the heels of her boots scraping against the stone floor. "Why? You're going to kill me too? Murdering Myrtle wasn't enough for you?"
He seemed annoyed. "I won't kill you."
"Then give me back my wand!"
He smiled, but the charming grin on his lips was even scarier now with the cold impassiveness of his eyes. "I'd rather keep it with me. You're quite impulsive and therefore difficult to predict."
Tom took a step forward, but she backed away, her back now against the wall. Nothing could help her now, especially not the dusty brooms surrounding her. He reached out for her, but she slapped his hand away. "Don't you dare touch me. I never want you near me again."
"How much do you know?"
"Enough."
His voice was soft. "Tell me, Yasmina."
She folded. "I know you killed her, Myrtle. You were the one who framed an innocent boy for it, taking all the credit and the honors of being the savior of the school." She laughed dryly, but there was nothing funny in this. "How could people even believe that Hagrid was the heir of Slytherin when someone as cunning and sly as you was roaming the same corridors? I can't believe we all fell for it. We were all blinded, blinded by your damn charm and your good manners. And the muggle family, two years ago, did you kill them too? It's his ring you're wearing, isn't it? You framed Gaunt for your crimes, somehow making him admit a murder he didn't even commit? That's how you do it, right? Framing others so you're able to quench your thirst for murder."
Tom didn't answer, but his silence spoke louder than words.
"I fell for you. So hard, head first. Because you wanted me to. You wanted me to drown in your toxicity, suffocating me with your lies to make me believe this was your wrecked way of loving me. You showed me all those vulnerabilities so I started to make excuses for you. But I was right all along." Her voice broke and she hated herself for it. "There's nothing human about you."
She wouldn't cry. Not for him. Not for the mistakes she had made. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing how he had won the game again. She'd known it from the start: she was an amateur. And she had failed spectacularly.
His voice, no louder than a whisper, broke the thickening silence. "You're scared because I'm different than everybody else. You don't have to be."
"I'm scared because you're a goddamn psychopath!"
He ignored her. "If you make the right decision, Yasmina, you'll never have to be afraid again."
He cupped her chin delicately, but she looked away, avoiding his eyes. His tender touch broke her heart, and he waited until their eyes met again before speaking. "There's a place for you, right next to me. You could join me and all of this wouldn't matter because I would be the one to protect you. I could never grow tired of you."
It hurt. It hurt so much, as there was nothing she would have desired more than to believe his poisonous words. The lies he was breathing out inked her blood, permanently damaging whatever innocence she had left after the past few months.
Her eyes were dry, as was her voice. "But I don't want to join you, Tom. I won't plead loyalty to you."
A shadow crept into his face.
"Fine," he spat, coldly looking down on her, his fingernails piercing her skin. "You fooled me with your temper, but you have no use for me anymore."
She could almost believe that he was actually hurt. Her voice softened, but her expression remained as rigid as she could manage. "You were wrong, Tom. You made a mistake in caring for me, thinking I would kneel before your power. You should have known."
"Caring for you?" the Slytherin scoffed in disbelief, his mocking glare wounding her beyond repair. "Everything I ever did or said was to get Dumbledore's secret from you. What would I ever need a girlfriend for?" Tom got closer to her, sliding his hands under her blouse to feel her skin. Yasmina didn't push him away, petrified, because even though his touch was luscious and delicate, the repulsion on his face wasn't an act, for once. "The more I listened to you, the more you talked. I was lustful to you because you were craving for it, and the second your mouth stopped moaning my name, it was spilling all your secrets."
Tom snorted, pulling his hands away. "I told you on New Year's Eve, you only have to say the right words to charm a pureblood. You were no exception. A challenge, certainly, but an exception?" he mocked, "not at all. Everything I said to you, everything I gave you was scripted. Ever wondered why my friends were so cordial to you? I commanded them to be so."
She finally flinched, prideful. "I've known all of them since I was born. Theodore –"
"Ah yes, Theodore, your dearest friend." Tom interrupted her, the cold anger petrifying her. "Theodore was actually the one to suggest seducing you in the first place, as I would've used other ways to make you talk. But he seemed to think that getting into your bed was the only way for you to open up. He must have known that your lips were sealed shut more tightly than your legs."
She slapped him. An instant later, his fingers strongly clenched around her neck, a glow of warning in his dark eyes. A painful poke in her ribs meant that his wand was inches away from her heart. He thought about punishing her. She could feel it in the dark aura that was surrounding him, begging him to bring dark magic to its wand. That dark aura she had grown to love.
She gasped for air, but nothing could penetrate her lungs. Her legs faltered and he kept her up against the wall by her throat. Tom was so close that when he spoke, his mouth brushed against hers. "Careful, Yasmina. Do not provoke me."
When he finally let her go, the Head girl fell to the ground. He threw her wand back, staring down at her like she was a disgusting, pitiful creature that has had the misfortune of crossing his path.
The truth imposed itself on her as she gazed back into his eyes. But there was no way she was going to die on her knees. She hardly got back on her feet and glared at him with all the animosity she could manage. "I know too much. No matter what you say, I know you'll have your way with me."
"I don't have to do anything. You won't talk."
He seemed so sure of himself that the hair on her arms stood up in alarm. "What will you do? Use Imperio on me? Obliviate me? You'll force me into an unbreakable vow?"
Tom tilted his head, a smirk on the corner of his mouth. "Why so much trouble, Yasmina? You won't talk because you know that if you do, Theodore won't live long enough to meet his fiancée on the altar next summer."
No. Her heart fell down her heels. "Theodore has nothing to do with this! He's one of you! He just wanted me to stay out of it."
"Stop lying to me", he threatened his wand now under her chin. "I know he found a way to tell you. I would get rid of him right now if I could, but I need Lestrange's family support. But if you talk, sweetheart, I swear he never will again."
Yasmina felt sick. His dark eyes looked down on her, from her feet to her eyes, the haughtiness in his gaze crushing her.
"So weak. I'm so disappointed in you. You could have done so much more, if only you wanted to."
With a last cold glance at her, Tom removed his spells on the closet and left, leaving her with the sole company of her regrets.
She didn't know how much time she remained there, frozen in shock. Hours, perhaps. When there was nothing left in there but pain, she stood up from the floor on which she was curled up and got out of the broom closet.
Voices from the Great hall were joyful, indicating that the match was over and that it was already dinner. How much time had she spent in here?
She couldn't stop the tears from running down her cheeks, now that he couldn't see them. The salty trails they left on her skin weren't from sadness. They were full of hatred and disgust, and each and every one of them burnt down her face as a reminder of her naivety.
Yasmina went outside, but even the frozen March wind on her bare legs and arms couldn't wake her up from this nightmare. Her skin went numb as she walked and walked, unaware of the path in front of her.
A distant warning in her brain told her that she should go inside and grab a cloak, but she couldn't resort to turning back. The cold was keeping her alive, and the biting pain was only a reminder of what she deserved.
Mocking laughs got her out of her thoughts as she stared at the group of men walking in her direction.
"Not much of a marriage prospect anymore, isn't she Avery?"
The laughter increased as she passed by them, ignoring their burning stares full of nastiness. They all knew. Of course, they knew.
Something hard entangled itself in her legs and she fell hard on the ground, using her hands to prevent her from falling face-first on the ice.
Scorched on the ice, her skin was cut open and the blood tainted red the white snow on the ground. She thought about staying down there, but warm, welcomed hands helped her back on her feet. The sight of him brought her back to earth, even though his grey eyes felt distant. "Are you alright?" Theodore asked, brushing the snow off her clothes.
She nodded, looking away.
"I'm so sorry," he softly said. "I'll never forgive him for what he did to you."
And by he, she knew Theodore didn't mean Mulciber and his leg-locker curse. She kept staring away, unable to meet his eyes, as he would see right through her. She couldn't talk. This was only to protect him. She'll give anything up if that means Theodore would be safe.
"Theodore," Avery called a few meters away, "come."
But the Slytherin ignored his friend, suddenly frozen in shock. He was staring at her neck, which Yasmina guessed had a huge bruise. If breathing was painful, she couldn't imagine the state of her skin.
"I'll kill him."
"Don't. Please don't."
You're not powerful enough, she thought. And the bruise on her neck was far from the worst thing he had done to her. Theodore removed his scarf and carefully placed it around her neck, hiding the bruise from anyone's sight. The unwanted comfort this small gesture provided her overflowed her with emotions, and the tears came back twice as hard.
Theodore wiped her tears from her cheeks. "You did what you thought was good, as will I. I'm not scared because he needs me. He needs my family's money and status to gain influence."
"Theodore, come. We are late." Avery warned again. The others had gone inside. "Please", he added, his voice broken, as if he knew the choice Theodore had just made. Avery cared so much for him, Yasmina realized. He cared for him as much as she did. And he's been trying to protect him from Tom all along.
"There's nothing he can do to me anymore." Theodore added, his hands on her shoulders, ignoring his friends' plead. "There's nothing more he can do to you. You're out and that's the only important thing to me."
"I was so naïve," she wept. "I can't believe I chose him over anything. Over me. Over you."
He smiled. "Don't be so hard on yourself. He was always the only option."
Yasmina wondered about all of the men that were duped by his charisma, fooled into those beliefs that weren't theirs in the beginning, and then stuck into something greater than them with no exit door. She pitied them.
Yasmina didn't look behind her shoulders to see Avery put his arm around Theodore's shoulder once he reached him. She didn't see him bring him closer, whispering comforting words. She knew that if she had to stay away from him, at least Avery would be there to protect him, no matter the cost. And that thought gave her hope.
Her feet guided her in front of the wooden door, but she couldn't find it in herself to knock.
"Come in," a voice suddenly said.
When she did, professor Dumbledore was sitting in front of the fireplace, a magazine in hand. When he looked at her, he knew.
"I failed, professor."
"Please sit down, Miss Shafiq." He tapped the seat next to him. "Do you want some tea?"
He wasn't angry. He wasn't even disappointed in her. But the spark in his eyes was now extinguished, as if he had known, all this time, that she couldn't keep her word. She shook her head as he handed her a cup and he lounged back on the couch, breathing out the deepest sigh Yasmina had ever heard coming from him.
"I guess that leaves me no choice but to stop him, now," he said, like the whole weight of the world pressed on his shoulders.
She knew he wasn't talking about Tom. He was talking about Grindelwald.
"You can say that Tom is lying. No one will ever believe him over you, professor."
Dumbledore smiled sadly. "Perhaps, but fire only needs a spark to light up. My past acquaintance with Gellert is not a secret, it will be easy to dig up. I must act now before Tom Riddle can use this information to his advantage. "
"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean… I knew you didn't want to face him. I feel like I imposed that terrible choice over you."
Against all odds, Dumbledore smiled and she felt even worse. "Don't be too hard on yourself, miss Shafiq. I never had a choice in that matter. I was blinding myself under false pretenses. But I always knew I had to defeat him in the end, even though the cost would be great."
Yasmina sniffed and didn't answer. Dumbledore stared at her over his glasses, seemingly wiser and older than he was a day before.
"Tom Riddle is a dangerous young man and he could fool the best of us."
Yasmina thought about Myrtle Warren and her lone, empty body discovered on the tile floor of the girl's bathroom two years ago. She thought about the muggle family murdered in cold blood. And then she thought about Theodore and remained silent.
Dumbledore took a long sip from his cup, eyes riveted to the fire in front of him.
Yasmina wasn't crying anymore. Her heartbeat pounded inside her head, and she regretted not having accepted his offer of tea. "Everybody likes him. Everybody is blind. You're the only one who can see right through him."
"A charming man like Tom has a facility with people. His words can seduce even the most stubborn of them. He plays with their minds until they follow him blindly. The main challenge, however, is to discern between the useless admirers and the close guard. Those are the ones we need to keep our eyes on."
Her heart pounded in her chest. "I know who they are. I can give you names."
She wasn't breaking her promise, technically speaking.
Dumbledore never asked how she knew. If he knew about her experience with the dark arts, he didn't show it. His eyes remained focused on her as he dipped his quill into the ink and traced the letters on an empty piece of parchment, lying on a pile of books. Mulciber, Rosier, Nott. She could see each of their disdainful glares as she told their names. Rowle, Dolohov, Malfoy... Avery.
One name never passed her lips. She would bring that secret to her grave.
"Tom will not keep that piece of information for himself for long. I need to get ready. If you'll excuse me", Dumbledore kindly pointed to the door and Yasmina stood and left, unable to stay any longer in the office of her teacher.
When she headed back outside, it was still freezing. The only thing shielding her from the wind was the carefully rolled scarf around her neck. Weirdly, the green color of the clothing looked even better on her than the red she usually wore. It stood as a reminder of her uncontrolled ambitions and pride. Perhaps she had indeed been sorted wrong, in first year.
Because now, courage felt as far as the warm summer days.
And pride... Pride was indeed a Slytherin trait.
Tom Riddle was never wrong. But he would lose. She'll make sure of it.
Last chapter!
A big thank you to all of you who followed this story from the beginning. I've always wanted to write a piece on Tom Riddle illustrating how emotionally manipulative he was in his younger years.
This story was the first one I've ever written in English. Thank you for sticking around despite my mistakes. I already feel like my writing in English has improved a lot, and I'll keep on working on it. I'm proud I was able to write in my second language and this is a big accomplishment for me.
Many thanks for your kind words and I hope to continue to hear from you, should you stumble on this fic again in the future.
All the best,
The Jolly Bard
