"Dragon Powder is the missing ingredient," she said again, flipping another page. "You won't find it in there, because 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.
Chapter Four
Halloween.
It had been almost two months to the day since Marie had rolled in on the Hogwarts Express for the eight times in her life on September 1st (most people only had to do that seven times). She supposed that some people would give a right arm and a leg to stay at Hogwarts an extra year – of course those were the people who stayed during Christmas and Easter breaks. Sadly, on occasion she'd been one to avoid her Uncle's home so she shouldn't really be complaining.
"Miss Adamms, I don't suppose you could tell me the correct spell that one would use to transfigure a cat into a…" It was the second – no third – time that the Transfiguration Professor had called on her. It was apparently obvious that this particular subject was not her best. Since, she'd gotten a D for dreadful on her Transfiguration O.W.L.
"I don't know, professor," she said for the third time, this time hoping that the irritation in her voice would show through.
"Miss Adamms, is there anything you do know?"
She gritted her teeth, flexing her fingers absent-mindedly in agitation.
Pertaining to this subject, no not particularly.
"I can tell you all the properties of moonstone, but somehow I'm not quite sure you would like to hear that," was what she actually said.
The professor clucked. "Impertinence, Miss Adamms."
Questions for the rest of lesson were directed solely at the people who knew exactly how to answer them. There were thirty-four in total that Tom Riddle himself had answered. Correctly.
If that wasn't enough to get her riled and ready to pick an argument with the first person she came in contact with (which would no doubt be some girl from her dorm) then being smacked into by Lestrange on the way down into the dungeon was pushing her over the edge.
She was walking steadily down to Slughorn's classroom when her whole entire body was being catapulted into a suit of armor. Thank Merlin for the battleaxe and whoever had once worn that suit had to be a massively built man. She grabbed onto the torso to steady herself, letting out a vicious curse.
They were going to get it, whoever pushed her over was going to have hell to pay. She turned to find hear snickers from a group of Slytherin boys walking forwards into the dungeons. It was actually somewhat of a surprise to her to see Tom Riddle in the front, he hadn't once glanced back.
"A simple 'excuse me' would have sufficed," she said, loudly, pulling out her wand. Without a word she mumbled the jelly legs jinx. Lestrange's legs gave out and his legs wobbled uncontrollably. He stared confusedly down at his legs and then his eyes narrowed as he glared up at Marie.
"You'll pay –"
"In what?"
She rolled her eyes, feeling sudden bravery rise in her chest. Marie moved past them, emboldened and feeling suddenly reckless. She knew for a fact that this was going to come back to bite her, but somehow she felt that when it happened she'd be ready. Or at least better prepared. As she past the front of the group, something grabbed her arms, squeezing tightly. The courageous bubble she'd felt burst as Tom Riddle's eyes pierced her own.
For the first time since she'd found out that her uncle had betrayed her family, she felt fear.
Fear of another person.
Enigma. If ever there was a word to describe Mari Adamms that would be it. Tom Riddle set his book down at his potions table, feeling a flash of annoyance as Avery sat down beside him.
"What's the plan for her," he whispered, leaning in closer along with the other two who sat across from them, hoping that he'd get in on the revenge plot. It was true, he did have a clear plan of action for what to do with her – but it was one he never really considered before. Usually, he would scare her, terrify her until she never came near them ever again and then maybe someday… he would get rid of her. But none of that would do someone like her justice.
To someone who was bored with mere students who were not his followers, this girl was a fascination for him. Something he could ill-afford to keep around. But something that his own curiosity and obsessive nature could not draw away from. It was like a magnet, she moved – reacted – and some part of him did the same. He'd watched her after the incident in the library, listened to her well detailed answers in Potions and had even stolen an essay from Charms when she'd left it laying in the common room. It had been thoroughly planned out and the description was enough to earn her an E at best. He'd even watched her suffer through Transfiguration, enjoying her exasperation with the subject. She clearly had no aptitude for that area of wizardry.
"Nothing," he said, waving his hand to let them know he brooked no argument from them.
The lesson went on as planned, one precarious ingredient after another, and one small glance at Marie after another. There was no emotional attachment to her, but somehow he fixated. He – desired her. And that wasn't something he had ever felt. He didn't like it for one second. It would have to be fixed immediately.
Marie stumbled into the common room after a particularly late night at the library reading up on how exactly she was supposed to do human transfiguration properly without turning her hair into several different shades of orange. Her body jerked forwards as she felt something invisible hook around her navel.
Instinctively she looked up, her eyes taking in the eerie scene in front of her, Tom Riddle sat in a comfortable deep green armchair, watching her. All she could see was the outline of his body, his wand resting on the left armrest, twirling around and around in his fingers. His eyes glittered brightly in the dark light; he flicked his wrist and the pressure around her waist lifted.
So this was payback. Somehow she'd expected the all-powerful Lord Voldemort to plan out his revenge – maybe he was like wine and got better with age – not immediately strike at her. She's also expected his followers to at least be there, but she knew inherently that they were alone.
"Good evening," he said in a pleasant voice.
This was not like the Tom Riddle she'd heard about – the cruel, sadistic, unforgiving monster was what she'd listened to stories and read about. He was the thing of nightmares, a genius with no soul and a penchant for power. The boy who sat in the chair stared at her as if she were an animal he wanted to study. Those looks made her feel bear – naked – like all her secrets were out in the open for someone to read. She'd read about legilimency and had never been great at occlumency but she didn't feel like this was it.
"Good evening," she said in reply, standing awkwardly in the center of the common room.
They stared at each other for another moment, before he flicked his wand again.
Now this was the stuff she'd expected. Her legs wobbled violently and when she tried to stand still they fought back, until she fell on her hands and knees. Marie straightened, deciding to not give him the satisfaction of having her kneel before him. She sat down Indian style, crossing her legs, staring patiently up at him. Waiting.
"You must wonder what I'm doing," he said in a perfectly clean, unemotional voice.
"You could say that." She propped her chin up on her elbows, giving him a droll stare. There weren't many people who would have given Lord Voldemort that type of look. And most of them were dead – or soon to be.
"You are a confusing aspect I didn't expect to ever arise. A curiosity if you will."
"And I need to be dealt with," she clarified for herself, wondering why on earth she hadn't just killed him the first night they'd met. He was sneaky – and very secretive, but she could take a hint. "You don't like me, because I present a challenge. People aren't challenges to you, objects, spells, and wand waving definitely is." She was going off everything she'd learned about him, and apparently this struck a chord.
He hissed, all but baring his teeth. Apparently he didn't like someone who able to read him – or read a book or two seventy years later. He glared at her, the malevolence in his eyes nearly knocked the wind out of her, sending a fresh chill down her spine. But it didn't stop her. For the second time, something bold washed over her – like she'd been possessed by some inborn demon that made her feel reckless. It didn't matter that he was the Lord Voldemort and would kill without remorse with a flick of his wand; it didn't even register in her brain.
She stood, barely noting that his jinx had been lifted, only watching the way his eyes tracked her. He looked hungry as she stalked forwards, his body tensed like a predator. Marie stopped directly in front of him, placing her body on the armrest, stringing her feet over his lap. It was surprising that all he did was watch her. What was more surprising was that he didn't kill her – or she didn't kill herself. She'd never done anything like this before.
They stared at each other for a moment. And then it happened. He grabbed her wrist, squeezing painfully, his other hand holding onto her hip. Their lips met. It wasn't like a normal kiss, when it should have ended he didn't let it. The only time she got to stop was to take deep breaths and dive back in for more. For someone who most likely had never had a first kiss – much less wanted to – he knew how to take control. And Merlin help her, but she liked it. When he stopped they just looked at each other.
A part of her wanted to say something calm and collected like "haven't you ever been kissed before, Tom" but she couldn't. His eyes glittered primitively – possessively and she imagined she looked afraid. And she could tell that he liked it.
"I can't do this," she whispered. But unlike the girl she wanted to be who got up and left, she couldn't move. And neither could he.
The boy who was to be the most soulless person that had ever existed in Wizarding History and still was. The most evil and secretive person that man had ever known. The person she was supposed to murder, had shown a passion that didn't revolve around magic.