"Absolutely disgusting," Julius sighed solemnly. "I'd rather die than watch this soap opera play out." As though a thought just occurred to him, he snapped his fingers. "Oh wait! I already did. Will my suffering never end?"

Ophelia dutifully tuned him out. Contrary to what some might believe, it wasn't what she would consider ideal to have her own personal Peanut Gallery following her around like a ghostly buzzing mosquito. As it was, she was just a bit preoccupied.

Laying as she was upon the cushion of grass, she couldn't pull away from Tom, not that that was even remotely what instinct called for. Not. One. Bit. Instead, her let her eyes flutter closed and fell head first into the moment.

The last time he'd kissed her there'd been fire and sparks. Scorching heat and crackling electricity fizzling across her skin. This time was different. It was softer. Sweeter. Less possessive and more... peaceful. There wasn't an individual word left in the English language to describe it.

It was the type of kiss girls could only dream of in unrealistic fantasies, one that wouldn't necessarily have been out of place in the center of countless epics. If Hellen of Troy had the face to launch a thousand ships, the raw, breathtaking feeling brewing deep in Ophelia's chest in time with her heartbeat was more than enough to sink them all.

Heartbreaking. That's what it was. There was a word after all, and Ophelia found it just as their lips parted to reclaim desperately needed air. Heartbreaking, because that's just who he was. A murderer. A man with half a soul and dubious morals. Heartbreaking, because of who she was. A coward. A girl without the nerve to do what needed to be done and even more dubious loyalties. Heartbreaking, because that single kiss promised so much, yet offered so little.

The most heartbreaking of all? It made her forget all that just long enough to believe everything would be alright, painting the world a rose hue where their only problems were who would make Head Boy and Head Girl next year.

Unthinking, she stretched her arms up around Tom's neck and brought his lips back to her own. She could feel his lips curve up into a smile at that, sending a tingling warmth shooting through her bloodstream down to her fingers and the very tips of her toes.

Julius groaned. "Seriously?"

A vindictive thought struck. Why, if she casually chucked the ring into the Forbidden Forest, so deep no one would ever find it, she'd never have to listen to his heckles again. That would certainly be that. Goodbye, Julius. Go annoy someone else. Unfortunately, the logistics of that plan didn't look so grand, but just the thought of the instant gratification was nearly enough to change her mind.

She grudgingly let the urge pass.

A dull hum of humour rumbled through Tom from where they were still connected by her arms and Ophelia frowned, sure whatever amused him would prove far less amusing for her.

"Can I help you?" she groused.

Note: it was not a genuine offer, and Tom knew it, easily detecting the sarcastic undertones. He wasn't a complete fool, after all, although he might have argued he wasn't a fool at all. Too bad Ophelia was quite certain about his fool status and wasn't inclined to change her mind in the near— or distant, for that matter— future. Tom, naturally, didn't get a vote on the matter.

"As I said, I didn't have to use my wand after all," he whispered, for too self-assured for Ophelia's liking, and pulled away, lifting her into a sitting position when she didn't release him.

She didn't attempt to hide how she rolled her eyes. Better that he saw exactly what she thought of that. "It must be oh-so difficult being right all the time."

"You have no idea," he agreed.

"Don't make me hex you."

"With what wand?" he asked, revealing two wands, one pheonix feather and one dragon heartsting, lying flat on his palm.

She extricated herself to pat at her pockets, as if she weren't staring directly at her wand in his traitorous hands, and came up empty. "You thief!"

"An opportunist," he corrected.

"Give it back!"

She took a daring swipe to reclaim it, but he was already withdrawing them out of her reach, smugly angling the wands over there heads.

Unamused, she crossed her arms. "What are you? Twelve?"

Laugh lines crinkled the corners of his dark eyes as he shrugged. "You dropped your guard. Consider this," he seemed to search for the correct word, "revenge."

"Revenge," she echoed, outraged. "For what?"

"For thinking you could best me in a duel and get away with it," he explained, like it were the most obvious thing in the world.

That explanation did nothing to ease her outrage. "This is bullying, you know."

"You think so?" he mused, unrepentant.

"I do think so. Now, give me my wand!"

At the last word, Ophelia lunged, banking on the element of surprise. As it turned out, the element of surprise wasn't all that surprising, considering both Tom and Julius anticipated it coming.

Julius had just began to say, "Whatever you're thinking, don't," when she acted directly against his warning.

III

Now, Tom quickly foresaw that Ophelia would eventually make a move to reclaim her wand. He didn't need to be Merlin to predict that much.

What he didn't predict was being unceremoniously tackled to the ground. The sensation of his back colliding with the loosely packed earth stole his breath away. His arms instinctively flew down, wands and all, around her waist to steady them both before she could do any further damage.

Ophelia still managed to, in spite of his efforts. The majority of the trouble she ever caused was with her mouth and this instance was no different. She kissed him, the third time in a matter of minutes, as though they hadn't spent months dancing deliberate circles around each other. It gave Tom no opportunity to catch his breath, but it was the kind of unforeseen complication he took little issue with.

And his life had been so full of complications since they first met.

Too soon, she withdrew, grinning like the cat that ate the canary. Tom became immediately wary.

"You think you're so smart," she said, "but two can play at that game."

She twirled her wand with obvious relish between her fingers, so he couldn't possibly miss the fact that it was no longer in his possession. Too much relish, evidently, because it twirled straight out of her hands, catapulting itself in a high arc above them, and landed in some of the better cut grass several feet away.

They both took a second to stare at it in heavy silence.

"You were saying?" Tom prompted. "Something about how smart I am?"

She grimaced, then, seemingly remembering herself, composed her features and rolled back onto her feet. "That," she wagged a finger vaguely in the direction of her wand, "is not the point."

"Is that so?"

"The point," she continued, obviously pretending he hadn't spoken, "is that I beat you at your own game. I took your own tactics and used them against you. And you. Still. Fell. For. It."

Tom considered taking the high road and letting the slight pass, although only briefly. He wasn't known for his charity, after all. Not breaking eye contact, he aimed his wand at hers and clearly enunciated, "Accio wand."

She scowled as they watched it fly into his hand. "You're a miserable wretch, Tom Riddle, and, I can't stress this enough, I sincerely despise you."

Tom smothered down the sharp thrill he felt every time his name left her lips to unwrap the rest of that less thrilling sentence.

"You have quite a funny way of showing it," he noted wryly.

Without batting an eyelash, she retorted, "Don't let a few measly kisses go to your head. You should see how I greet people I actually like."

That was certainly a troubling thought.

Ophelia frowned at him— no, past him, towards the castle— and squinted her eyes. Tom followed her gaze over his shoulder only to see one of his serpents slipping down the steps with a singleminded focus to return to him.

"Why'd you call it back already?" she asked.

"I didn't," he replied shortly.

The dark-bodied adder wove intricately through the grass so that Tom momentarily lost sight of it, only to reappear moments later, far closer. No doubt about it. It was headed their way.

"There's something wrong," Tom and Ophelia said at the same time, eyes locking.

Something had to have happened for one of Tom's spies to seek him out prematurely, but now that he was paying attention it was obvious something was amiss, though he couldn't consciously tell what it was. The awareness came more as a feeling than anything else.

He hated not knowing. His feet carried him towards the snake, while Ophelia's overtook him, going instead directly to the source. The serpent was confused when Tom spoke to it, unable to articulate exactly what was happening. A reptile was still just a reptile in the end, incapable of complex, nuanced thought. Besides, his snakes were useful in that they were small enough to be overlooked if they stuck to dark corners. That didn't make them invisible. This one had been apparently unable to creep within eavesdropping distance in the too-brightly lit Great Hall to ascertain anything besides a bizarre commotion involving half a dozen people the snake didn't recognize plus another half a dozen it did, including the Headmaster.

Tom's frown deepened. Nothing good could come of that.

Ophelia pulled open the door by its large brass handle and peaked inside. Just as quickly, she yanked it shut and hissed, "The Ministry. The Minister of Magic is here!"

A/N

Sorry that I haven't updated in like two weeks. I've been on holiday in York and Leicester visiting my aunt and my grandmother since we recently got knews that my aunt has stage four cancer and my kid cousin isn't much better off. Needless to say, I've been busy, but what else is new?

Also, I found it extraordinarily amusing when I was writing that the ring /stone ends up eventually lost in the forest anyway.