"Students should be in bed," A soft voice said from the behind her. Instead of jumping like she had several times tonight, she froze. That voice was familiar, even though she had heard it mutter only one word before, and it wasn't to her. But instead to a wall.
Marie turned, her eyes slamming into the teenage Voldemort. Tom Riddle.
Chapter Three
"Students, should be in bed at this hour," he repeated, his wand still turning in between his long forefingers. "Especially new students."
Her very first thought was: Dear Merlin, he's going to kill me right here. But Tom Riddle wasn't that obvious, he was sneaky, especially at Hogwarts, he wouldn't kill her.
For now.
She didn't know what to say in reply, usually if it had been someone in her own house – Gryffindor – she amended silently, Slytherin was her house now, Marie would have given them one heaping of a tongue-lashing. However, in the presence of Tom Riddle, Voldemort, The Dark Lord, whatever he was to be called in this time, her mouth seemed to freeze up, tongue swollen in her mouth. It was, she realized, that she was afraid of him, absolutely terrified of what he could – and would – do to her if he ever found out who she really was. Or what she was doing at Hogwarts, nearly seventy years behind her own time.
"I c-couldn't s-sleep," she stammered, wincing at the inflection in her voice. Oh this is pathetic, she mentally told herself, disgusted by the frightened tone.
Marie Adamms was many things, she wasn't the nicest person ever, in fact she was hardly nice to anyone she did not know, and was loyal to the very few people who stuck by her through her own life. That left very few people. She was brave, to a point, and then cowardice took over, but somehow she'd always done what was right – at least in her opinion. It didn't matter that she'd nearly failed her Transfiguration OWLS, and was now taking the NEWTS class – and had seriously lied about being good at Herbology on her recommendation to Dippet.
There was one thing Marie Adamms never was – and that was dependent on anything or person. She'd always been able to carry the burden alone, and would continue to do so until the day she died (which she suspected may be someday soon, perhaps even tonight). She could handle almost anything without help. And Tom Riddle was going to be one of those things.
She straightened her spine, slipping out her trusty and familiar wand, the weight feeling perfect in her palm. "Though, I can't imagine what my not being able to sleep, has to do with you?" She added, this time her voice sounding strong – and somewhat superior.
Tom Riddle did not like that – he did not like the way she had spoken to him, she could tell by the red glow flickering quickly in his eyes. Perhaps it had just been the firelight, glinting off he cool gray of those orbs, but she didn't really think so. This red glimmer didn't come from any lighting – but instead from the soul. And then it was gone – gone before she could have a real chance at analyzing the man who had created one of the greatest dark forces in Wizarding history.
"I am Head Boy, it is my duty to see whether students are misbehaving, especially if they are breaking the rules within my own house," he said, coolly.
"That's all fine and proper, but I wasn't misbehaving, I was merely minding my own business in my new common room, simply because I couldn't sleep. Is that such a crime?" Marie turned to pick up the bag she'd brought with her on her tour of the grounds and as she did, she would have bet ten galleons that his lips had twitched, but a moment later, when she glanced back up at his face, it expressionless.
As usual.
"That is very true, many apologies… Miss…?"
Now he was trying to charm her, he was very good, she supposed.
But not quite good enough.
His infamous manipulation and suave attitude didn't hold a candle what she'd seen growing up. Her Uncle had been well versed in the ways of manipulation – outcome engineering, as he had liked to call it. Though, he most likely had learned from Voldemort himself.
"Adamms, double m. Marie Adamms, and don't try to charm me, Mr...?"
"Riddle." He didn't offer a first name, and so she did not ask for one. As if she didn't already know it.
"Our discussion has exhausted me, Mr. Riddle, I may as well just go to bed." And so she walked past him, slinging the bag over he shoulder as she went, and suppressing a large shudder as her robes barely brushed his. It was a cheap excuse, and she knew it, but somehow it felt like the right thing to do. There had been absolutely no point to their discussion anyways – at least that she could see – that didn't end in her own death.
The simple and most astounding fact about Hogwarts was that almost all Slytherins were early risers – it wasn't something she'd expected before now. But when the sunlight started to shine through the window every single girl in Marie's dorm were up and ready to begin their days. They were what she liked "morning people" a term she didn't particularly enjoy – or for that matter apply to herself in any case. It was only Zelda March's incessant chatter that drove her to wake up (after several attempts to drone out the other girl's voice by covering a pillow over her face.)
Marie waited until every girl in her dorm had left for breakfast before she got ready. When it came to getting ready for the day, she was essentially the slowest moving person in all of history. However, her patience for other people only lasted a grand total of twelve seconds before she felt the need to hex them. It was an odd combination of personality traits – traits that usually made her late for breakfast.
She sat in the great hall alone, Slughorn passing out start of term schedules. He barely spared her a glance before passing onto one of his more remarkable students. It was amazing how quickly gossip could be forgotten. It seemed that the story of her arrival had already been distributed from student to student and the Hogwarts rumor mill had started on a new topic for the day.
Which was perfectly fine for her. It would prove useful on more than one future event. She glanced over towards the center of the Slytherin table where she knew Tom Riddle sat. He was completely at ease, controlling the situation, none of his cronies any the wiser. He was so arrogant.
Just one spell would wipe that smug look off his face forever.
You could do it now, came the inner voice that was usually represented the more evil side of her. Just walk over and kill him. She'd be sent to Azkaban, no teacher would let her walk out of here alive. Although she'd already graduated Hogwarts – knew countless escape a route to and from the school – Dumbledore was here. He would find her. And he would be forced to send her away – despite the fact that what she was doing was for the good of mankind.
Do it.
"No," she whispered through clenched teeth.
He looked up – Tom Riddle glanced at her as if he'd heard her speak, heard her thoughts. His eyes sharpened as they rested on her. She could feel his mind calculating behind that face – that treacherous face. It was time to go to class. She moved, praying that the rest of her day went without conflict – even though she was there to cause some.
"I hate this," Marie muttered angrily, the next morning. Being a seventh year twice in a row was going to kill her if Tom Riddle didn't. On top of trying to find a perfect time frame for murder (which sounded much easier thought that done) homework, essays, and hopefully not exams had come into the equation. Somehow her brain hadn't exactly budgeted for this. The idea of coming back to Hogwarts again to seek revenge on the Dark Lord had been something that she'd been plotting since the night she'd found out her family had been on his favorite hit list. Unfortunately her not so forward thinking self hadn't thought of the actual schoolwork part.
"I really hate this."
It was to be the second day of term – second day! And she was already looking up older remedies and counter-charms to the two important essays that were due within the first week. It was bad enough that certain potions hadn't been invented yet – and although the idea of taking credit for their invention a few years earlier to get out of some work appealed greatly to her, it would mean very poorly for her role as the quiet mouse.
Marie dug out a book that looked as if it had been living in a tomb for that last fifty years from the back of the library. Its cover was lined with dust, the title barely recognizable, and it made her sneeze. Which was all together prohibited in the library.
"This," she hissed, searching through yellow crusted pages to the index. "Is." Marie used the sleeve of her robe to wipe the grime away from the words, not wanting to think about what that grime actually was. "Ridiculous."
"Having trouble?"
The voice slid shivers down her spine. One some level she felt betrayed by the fact that she was surprised he was here. Tom Riddle was a Slytherin (who all apparently liked to wake up as soon as the sun rose) and he was an over-achiever. He knew how play empathetic, the sympathetic ear, the charming sweetheart, and the controlling tyrant all very well. So it would be perfectly non-surprising that he was in the library – in the morning.
"No," she said quickly, hurriedly flipping to a random page so that she could at least look like she knew what she was doing. He left her be, settling himself at one of the tables, laying out his potions book where he began to read, an intense hunger for the knowledge clearly flickering in his eyes.
She watched him pour over the pages for a little while, it was almost compulsive the way Marie had to force herself to pretend to read the massive book in front of her. Studying her quarry was not something she needed to do so obviously.
It was when he was reading a particular passage about the proper way to stir a secret ingredient into a Draught of Fear, when his eyebrows knitted together. Carefully, as if the book had actual feelings, he marked the corner of his page, making a note on his parchment to find what the secret ingredient actually was. In the standard textbook he had – and that was assigned – they didn't give it out due to the makers fear that his readers would actually try to use this potion. The information could only be found in A Complete Copy of Hidden Potions by Cassiopeia Albright. She knew, because she'd run into the same problem while conducting her own experiments with the potion. She'd had to go digging for it in the restricted section.
"A pinch of Dragon Powder," she said, flipping a page of her book, hoping to appear somewhat nonchalant.
He straightened, turning the page of the index he was now using to find said secret ingredient. It was the second time that day she felt those eyes on her – penetrating into her own – and Marie wasn't sure she liked it.
"Dragon Powder is the missing ingredient," she said again, flipping another page. "You won't find it in there, that's the Standardized version. They only want you to have an idea of the potion – not actually make it. I should know. I had to dig through half of Flourish and Blotts to find a copy that actually sold the full recipe."
Silence met her words. She waited a few moments before looking up, he was watching her, studying her, sizing her up shrewdly. After a moment, he nodded, and returned to his book. She did the same, but from out of the corner of her eye, she saw him write down "dragon powder" on the top of the page.