Chapter 19: The Christmas Party

Medea

Hogwarts at Christmas was quite a magnificent sight to behold.

The Great Hall was decorated with no less than twelve Christmas trees. Glittering snowflakes were floating in midair and I enjoyed the smell of cookies that came from the kitchens. The Slytherin dungeons were cold as ice compared to the rest of the castle, but bearable.

Not one day passed without a letter from my father. I was relieved by the impression that he seemed to be getting better rather quickly.

Only a few days after I had returned it was time for Slughorn's party. I hadn't been able to talk to Tom about the events of my absence. We had never been truly alone.

Tom

Medea was looking stunning in a dark red dress that was showing off her figure. It was tight around her waist with a bell-bottomed skirt that reached her knees. Her hair was looking beautiful with those soft waves that framed her pretty face. The only thing that seemed slightly out of place was a silver necklace with a big red jewell. I didn't comment on it, but I thought it did not suit her. A little smile sealed her lips and a smug expression on her face made me curious. I got the feeling that she had a good reason for this accessory.

We could hear the music from afar, the sound carrying through the castle, promising a pleasent evening.

Slughorn welcomed us as soon as we stepped through the door with a beaming smile.

"Ah, Tom, my boy. And dear Medea, I have been waiting for you. Wanted a worthy entrance, eh?

I want to introduce you to a couple of people."

He winked and led the way through the crowd. We reached a little group of men, one small woman standing now suddenly next to Slughorn.

Medea stiffened and her face was tense for a second before she regained her composure.

"This is Bathilda Bagshot, a brilliant Historian. Theodore Snickson, editor of the 'Daily Prophet' and Johnathan Livingston, a Ministry employee. And of course Leo Prince, one could call him an adventurer."

That man called Livingston brought Medea to her father, I realised after a moment.

"My dear friends, I would like to introduce Miss Medea Crane and Tom Riddle. Hogwart's best students, by far, and naturally in Slytherin House." A radiant smile on his lips, he seemed to display us like trophies.

The middle-aged witch spoke first.

"Well, she definetly looks like a Crane. The history of your family is truly fascinating. You are the last descendent of the Crane line, I take it?"

"Precisely, my father and I are the only ones left."

"Horace, did you know that there is going to be a beauty contest in London next month? Your student could definetly make for a strong competition."

Snickson smiled one hand in his oily hair. The Editor of the Daily Prophet seemed to be an unpleasent fellow all around.

"I think Tom has other goals in life, Sir."

Medea's voice was polite and calm, yet I knew it took her a lot of self-control to hide her disdain.

Slughorn let out a barking laugh and Snickson forced himself to do the same.

The man in black had gleaming eyes and Bathilda Bagshot was evidently impressed, eyeing Medea now with curiousity.

The conversation was rather pleasant afterwards and after half an hour I led Medea away, under the premise of having a drink.

"Tedious man," she spat. I brushed her knuckles with the tips of my fingers, an amused smile on my lips.

"As if my only purpose in life was to display a bathing suit."

"He is a fool, one day he will realise that appearances mean nothing.What nonsense that people mistake beauty for goodness."

"Uh, Tolstoy. Very clever, Mr Riddle."

She looked up at me with her emerald-green eyes and something in my chest contracted painfully.

I swallowed hard and stopped at a table full of butterbeer and took a gulp.

Now turning around I saw Avery and Rosier walking towards us, their expressions carefully kept casual.

"My Lord," they whispered.

Medea raised her eyebrows at this, but left it uncommented.

"Anyone interesting here tonight?"

"No, as far as we have seen only the usual mixture of eccentrics and Ministry employees." Avery had spoken while Rosier stared at Medea, puzzled.

"Can I help you somehow, Rosier?" Her voice was soft and yet challenging.

"Oh, excuse me. I didn't mean to stare. That necklace only seems quite familiar."

"It's a family heirloom," she said.

"Alastair ?" Druella called for her brother and laid a hand on his shoulder from behind.

She wanted to say something when her eyes caught sight of Medea, which made her freeze in motion.

All colour drained from her face and the hand on her brother's shoulder started to shake.

Medea had a smug smile on her lips and fixed her piercing gaze on the other girl.

Suddenly Druella stumbled backwards and ran to the door, pushing people rudely out of the way.

"What's her problem ?" Avery asked Rosier who shrugged his shoulders.

"She's odd, always been. But it has gotten worse this term."

I felt Medea move next to me. She walked to the exit as well. Sliding elegantly between the people in her way and vanished into the dark corridor.

Her expression made my heart beat faster, like she was searching for her prey.

Medea

To guess where she was going wasn't hard. Of course she was trying to hide in her room. I had made sure she was alone. The Imperius Curse had served me well so far.

I walked through the empty common room and towards her door.

Knocking at it, I didn't expect an answer, so I entered.

Her wand was pointed at me the second I had set a foot into room.

Naturally, I was prepared.

Closing the door shut, I flicked my wand at it so no one would hear anything.

"Where is she? Are you torturing her ?"

"Oh please, don't be ridiculous. As if I would make such a fuzz about those henchmen. Way too much effort."

"So, where is she then ?" Panic was rising in her voice.

I simply shrugged: "Dead, of course."

Her face grew even paler and tears were welling up in her eyes.

"I won't kill you." I walked up to her and saw that she was shaking too much to cast a spell.

"No?" She asked feebly.

"No, there are more refined ways of cruelty."

She started to sob heavily and I took the wand from her hand in a gentle motion.

"What...what are you...going to do to me?" Her face was now red and blotchy and her eyes were puffy from crying.

"You won't be you from now on. Never again." I brushed her cheek with my hand and her body erupted in sobs once again.

The Party was almost at an end when I came back. I saw Tom talking to his 'knights' and Slughorn standing at the mantelpiece with Bathilda Bagshot.

When I caught what they were talking about I stopped dead in my tracks and tried to hear them better.

"How noble of you." Said the Historian.

"That was when I realised that sharing knoweldge was what I wanted to do. I even earned a few housepoints with it."

"How long did this study group exist ?"

"For two years. However, I received letters asking for advice years later. Even one asking for help to brew a love potion."

A shiver ran down my spine as I remembered the face of Merope Gaunt on the cover of a school paper, with her sallow pale skin and eyes that looked in opposite directions.

I stayed behind and when Bathilda Bagshot left as well, I approached Professor Slughorn.

"Ah, Medea, there you are. Enjoying yourself ?"

"Very much, Sir." I beamed at him, determined to get the information I needed .

"Sir, I couldn't help but overhear you talking about this study group of yours."

"Yes, Yes. I was a student myself back then, so a long time has passed since then. Not that you needed extra potions lessons, you are such a clever young witch." His smile deepened, taking another glass of sherry and I decided to ask him head on.

"You mentioned someone asking for help years later. I think with a love potion, so naturally I got curious if you did help that person."

He sighed and blushed as he answered: "I hope this stays between us, my dear. I did help her, poor girl. She wasn't much of a looker, you know. Her family had been very influencial in the past, you see, their glory was long gone by the time I met her. To be owed a favour can't hurt, I thought. Never heard a word from her again. I have to confess that I sometimes wonder if she succeeded."

"Professor, may I ask what family she belonged to?"

"Medea, I really shouldn't tell you. You and Tom are however my favourites, so I'll make and exception. Just promise me to keep it to yourself, or I would receive letters like that all the time."

"Of course, Sir."

"Her family belonged to the 'Sacred-twenty-eight'. They claimed to be the last descendants of Salazar Slytherin himself."

"Merope Gaunt," it escaped me.

Slughorn seemed startled for a moment.

"Yes, all dead now, I'm afraid. Are you alright, my girl? You are quiet pale."

"She succeeded, Professor."

His eyes widened and he followed my gaze to Tom, who was standing at the other end of the room.

We looked at each other and his face lightened up in a way I had never seen before.

"I thought his second name seemed familiar." Slughorn was stunned and sat down in the nearest chair.

"Professor, please, this has to stay between you and me a little while longer. I want to explain it to him properly. He doesn't know yet."

Managing a little nod, he couldn't take his eyes off Tom. Undoubtedly aware now that he was going to be a jewell in his collection. Talented, handsome and a descendant of one of the greatest wizards of all time. He must have ignored that one thing that came painfully to my mind.

This meant that his ancestors had suffered from madness.