Disclaimer: Wait… hang on… wait for it…! Aw. Nope, sorry, still don't own Harry Potter.
A/N: See, I updated waaay faster than normal… I can do it!
I introduced another OC into the story… sort of. You'll notice I won't really talk about House/Main character interactions much, because that requires a LOT of OC making, and I really dislike too many in one story… this OC's important, though, so bear with me.
This chap's also quite Harry-centric, to balance out all the Draco-nessness I've been adding, so…enjoy!
OH! AND THOMAS MARVOLO RIDDLE FINALLY MAKES AN APPEARANCE! YAHOO!
Pretending To Live
Chapter 8: Murderous Tendencies
Life would never be that easy.
I yawned, half heartedly covering my mouth to stifle the sound.
Hazy currents of musky rosehip oil and sandalwood floated- or rather poured- into my wide open mouth and I choked, earning myself a rather bored looking glance from Draco on my left.
This is so stupid, I thought as the coughs subsided into gentle dry-retching. Why in Merlin's name would I, no, anyone, need to know this stuff?
'Bond yourself to your Inner Eye!' the rather unconventional Professor Ilyeria cried as she swooped around the room, tendrils of her grey and brown hair escaping the loose chignon at the base of her neck, held in place by her wand. 'Feel its Magic entwine with your own- become one with the Orb!'
Hastily wiping off some drool that had gathered at the corner of my mouth, I tried to snap myself awake, straightening up abruptly in my chair to stare vacantly once more at that damned object.
'See not with your eyes, but with your Eye! Your Eye!'
I'll show you what to do with your Eye, I thought viciously, then sighed, turning my attention to the crystal in front of me.
I wasn't the only one slacking off in this lesson; several of the Hufflepuffs that shared the lesson with us and probably all of the Gryffindors were in the same position, their eyes (and Eye) glazed over and glassy.
Ayayay.
Even Draco appeared to be less of the uptight sod he normally was, his head propped up on one arm, slumping at the table as he visibly struggled to stay awake. One eye drooped shut, followed by the other and he stayed like that for a while before abruptly propelling off the table, muttering dark curses under his breath.
Today, this 2nd of September, began my first ever day of classes at Hogwarts, my new start as an official student.
Aside from Divination, I'd already had two subjects earlier today- Transfiguration (taught by Professor Dumbledore himself) and Herbology (taught by a rather short but cheerful man called Professor Radvire), both with the Ravenclaws, which meant that I had a lot of time being bossed around by Hermione on 'proper' technique in magic.
'So... like this?'
'No! You're supposed to twirl then swish to do it properly- haven't you been listening to Professor Dumbledore? See- now watch carefully- like this-'
But, I had to admit, she knew her stuff and I managed to successfully cast the spell we had been learning at least twice by the end of the lesson, much to her's and Dumbledore's approval.
So the whole spell thing... definitely getting better.
Dumbledore had been a great teacher in 1997 by helping me learn this stuff, and his self in 1944 was no exception either (though only difference, of course, being that there was a lesser chance of me getting horribly disfigured in these lessons). As much as I sucked at actually performing the magic, the theory and mechanics behind it fascinated me- it was almost scientific, the thought process behind the flashy results.
Herbology passed without much incident (that is, if you call almost being strangled by a Venomous Tentacula 'without incident') and it was only this Divination class left before lunch, thank Merlin.
Draco's head was slowly sliding off its place on his hand again, I saw with a certain degree of amusement, his nose inching closer and closer to the surface of the table...
'Thank you class, I believe you may go.'
I kicked Draco in the shin underneath the table and he yelped, snapping back to full alertness in an instant.
'What the bloody hell was that for?' he growled at me, eyes blazing.
"Lunch." was the brief reply, and I stood up, making my way to the stepladder that provided an exit out of the classroom, Malfoy muttering curse words under his breath behind me the whole while.
When I reached the Great Hall, situating myself in my normal spot with Draco begrudgingly sitting next to me, I immediately began to shovel the food available on my plate and into my mouth, completely unaware of what I was eating and managing to not to care.
Draco shot me a look of barely contained revulsion and I gave him a questioning look behind a mouthful of steak and kidney pie. "Whargh?"
He shook his head in annoyance, daintily cutting up his brussel sprouts with a fork as he replied. "I'm sorry, was I not supposed to notice the shreds of various animal organs dangling from your face?"
Irritated at his unnecessary sarcasm, I swallowed, wiping my mouth off with a napkin before I spoke. "Shut up—that was not appreciated, just so you know—and I'm only eating like this because I need to hurry to the Library before our meeting in the Room of Requirement later. Didn't you feel it?"
I was referring to the fake Galleons Hermione had somehow managed to charm again, which she had given to us during our earlier lessons this morning.
My pocket that I had put it in had burned sometime in the beginning of Divination, and when I checked the time for our little group rendezvous had been inscribed on the outside of the golden coin.
I'd assumed Draco had checked it too.
"Yes, but why the Library? For God's sake woman, you're starting to sound like Granger…"
"I need to borrow something I think—no, I know will be extremely important later on. Think of it as…" I paused, searching for the right word, "research. I'll meet you in the Room later, okay? Be nice!" I yelled out as I left the Hall, leaving a behind very much incensed Draco at the Gryffindor table.
Oh, he'll live.
Humming a soft tune to myself, I pulled out a rather ragged piece of yellowed parchment from the inside of my school robes, tapping its surface once with my wand.
"I solemnly swear I am up to no good."
"Are you sure I can borrow this?" I asked Harry, dumbfounded as he handed over the Marauders' Map over to me, my fingers closing over its silky dry surface reluctantly. This was his, one of the few mementos he had of his parents after all…
"Yeah, go ahead. You'll need it more than I would, anyway. Just return it when you're done," he said, a grin spreading over his face as I took it with a poorly disguised look of awe.
I looked at him. "Wow…thanks…"
"No problem."
The inky patterns spreading over the paper caught my attention, turning my mind away from what had happened after dinner last night and back to the present.
"Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs," I murmured quietly as my eyes roved over the intricate black lines depicting Hogwarts shown on the Map, searching for the location to my intended destination. "Show me the Library…"
Tracing a path with my eyes, and double checking for the colored dots that displayed the presence of anyone in Hogwarts, I half-jogged, half walked through the corridors until I found myself in front of a massive, arc shaped entrance which I knew led to the Library.
Strolling purposefully through the entrance, I stopped immediately almost as soon as I entered, my mouth falling open.
The Hogwarts' library was incredible- massive, of course, and daunting- but what really surprised me was the amount of books that it held, either stacked neatly by alphabetical order on the shelves, or simply piled haphazardly on desks and tables.
'Watch out!'
I dodged the stack of books floating in midair towards me, and gave an 'I'm okay' thumbs up to its owner who shot a me an apologetic glance as they continued to chase after their rapidly moving belongings.
Shaking my head in disbelief, I looked around once more, wondering where to begin searching.
Alphabetical order...S...
I strolled around the tall shelves, eyes scanning the spines of each book intently.
P... Practical Pranks & Jokes With Eliza Goshawk...Q...Quidditch Through The Ages by Kenniworthy Whisp... R... Rune Dictionary: The Thorough Companion...S...S!
Gasping quietly in slight surprise, I slipped into the slight gap between the shelves, examining each dusty volume for the book I needed.
When my search turned out to be fruitless, however, I was ready to kick the shelf in frustration.
Where the hell was it? Of course it wouldn't be anywhere where I could find it... But when the sodding Dark Lord needs it, the books just materialise in front of him, is that it? I thought sourly, exhaling in a big rush of air.
What on earth were the Hogwarts staff thinking, anyway? I continued my rant. Just shoving Dark stuff like that right under the kids' noses, they could at least attempt to hide it, or even just restrict the students' access...
The answer hit me so hard and so fast I actually gasped for air at the end of my revelation.
Oh Merlin.
I facepalmed right where I was, earning myself a few curious glances from the other students around me.
Of course! 'Restricted' access! It's in the Restricted Section!
Skidding my way out from the 'S' shelves, I quickly made my way to the very back of the library, the darkest part that I was sure held the Restricted Section.
Biting my lip, I glanced around furtively to see if anyone had noticed anything suspicious- after all, students needed the express permission and signature of a teacher in order to enter, didn't they?
No one seemed to see anything, though, for the area around these particular shelves was mostly deserted save for the occasional first year that happened to wander in for accident- and even they knew better than to linger.
So I took a deep breath, put my hand on the cold metal handle that opened the barred door, unbolted the door and slipped quietly inside.
My first impression was that it was dark. At least, compared to the rest of the Library.
The shelves were huge, bigger than normal, and the entire section was lit only by the dim light of a few lanterns that floated high above my head.
Tall ladders leant against the bookcases and I hoped that wherever the book was, it was somewhere I could easily reach.
Exhaling sharply, I reached for my wand inside my robes, bringing out in front of me.
"Lumos," I whispered, and the tip of the wand burst into flames.
"Oh! Ah—ah—erm—aguamenti!" I half shouted frantically, brandishing the wand hysterically in front of me and I nearly started to cry as a whole jet of water, similar to a fire hose, shot out of the tip of my wand, effectively dousing the flame, but flooding the entire floor of the Section.
"Dammit! Oh, Merlin—finite incantatem!" I said, and the jet slowed down into a light trickle.
Sighing with barely repressed relief, I shook off my wand, eyeing the sopping floor with a guilty expression.
I'd clean it up, but I'd probably end up setting the whole library on fire.
"Alright. Take two," I muttered to myself, flicking the wand again. Lumos! I thought.
The tip of the wand flickered, then slowly strengthened into a pearly white glow that illuminated the path in front of me, its light reflected on the surface of the water.
Inwardly thanking whichever entity that had decided to give me a break, for once, I sloshed my way forward, examining the titles written on the spines of the books.
Once I found my way into the 'S' section, I began to scan them more closely, attempting to decipher each of the faded words inscribed.
Sacrificial Rites and Their Use in Necromancy… Le Sang des Damnés… Sonnets of a Sorcerer (someone had obviously misplaced that, it was in the wrong order)… ah, there we are.
Secrets of the Darkest Art.
The book Hermione had procured during her sixth year, the book that held all the information on both making and destroying Horcruxes. The book that could possibly have been the source of all the misery caused for the duration of Lord Voldemort's reign of tyranny over the Wizarding world.
Right in front of my nose.
Breathing heavily, I fumbled around the shelf, attempting to pry it out with unskilled fingers; it was packed so closely next to the other books.
After a while, though, I managed to tug it out of its place on the shelf and I opened it eagerly, examining the contents inside.
The first page I saw appeared to be covered in bloodstains (which I actually thought was quite cliché); I suppressed the urge to retch and turned to the contents page instead.
"Horcruxes, Horcruxes, Horcruxes…" I murmured quietly to myself, running a finger along the list. "Page 595."
I flipped to the page as quickly as I could and winced as I saw a double page spread of a man covered in blood, his body contorted in what could clearly be described as agony, judging by the expression on his face. It was a gruesome, and disturbingly detailed sight, and my stomach flip flopped queasily as I turned to the next page.
Horcruxes
One of the most evile and complex of all magickes, Horcruxes are only created by the darkest and moste powerful of wizards-
Well, no duh.
Footsteps echoed from somewhere around the corner of the Restricted Section, and I jumped, abruptly shutting the book and listening intently.
Yep, there was no mistake about it—someone was approaching, the light thuds of their feet as they hit the marble floor steadily getting louder the closer they came.
Vociferating a number of well-worded curses in my head, I looked around, frantically finding a place to put the book—if it was a teacher who was coming, then I definitely couldn't be seen with the book on friggin' Horcruxes, of all things—and yet, I couldn't simply leave it here after going through all that trouble to get it, and what if another student found it?
The person was moving closer, and I was running out of time.
I extinguished the light of my wand and waved it at the book, shouting the charm Velieris! in my mind and desperately hoping nothing would burst into flames this time I casted a spell.
To my immense relief, the enchantment actually worked and the cover of the book morphed into two hands holding a bright red apple on a plain black background. Though I doubted anyone in this era (or book, for that matter) would get the reference, I hoped it would instigate the same instinctive repulsion in whoever saw it as it did to me (A/N: I actually don't have anything against the book, guys).
That and I had my reservations about the idea of Lord Voldemort being the type to read teen romance novels.
Hastily, I slammed it back into the gap where I had originally found it and made to run in the other direction, managing to get at least two steps before slipping on the drenched floor and landing on my butt, skidding forwards and sending splashes of water everywhere.
I groaned as I heard the rusty lock of the deadbolt creak; so much for a quick escape.
Oh crap.
Like a deer caught in the headlights, I froze in my position half up and half off the floor, not turning around even as I felt a pair of acidic eyes bore into the back of my skull.
I gulped; okay, Ari, just turn around and think up of some kind of excuse…
My unwilling feet shuffled towards the person's direction and as I finally worked up the courage to look into their face I realized that that was a complete mistake.
Oh dear...
The person was tall, very tall, and even though he was standing motionless against the door I could just tell that there was a certain stiffness, a sort of hard grace in his movements (if he moved, he was as still as a statue at the moment) just by looking at him.
As my eyes continued to rove over his face I noticed all the wrong things: his straight, narrow nose, high cheekbones, oddly stern dark grey eyes, perfectly sculpted lips…
Damn if I didn't know where those thoughts were going…
Tiny beads of sweat were forming around my temples from the stress of it all and—oh my God, I was not chanting the word 'rape' repeatedly in my mind…
The person was gorgeous. Devastatingly so—I guess it wouldn't be too far of a stretch to call him beautiful even, if it weren't for a certain subdued feral glint in his eye and the barely there sneer on his lips.
He was dazzling.
And… he was also the most evil wizard ever to walk the halls of Hogwarts since Salazar Slytherin himself.
Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Lord Voldemort.
"Um… hi?"
Oh Ari.
I cringed the moment the words left my lips.
An ink black brow arched elegantly on Voldemort's face—the first movement I'd seen him make ever since he entered the room.
"What are you doing?" His voice, low and yet strangely commanding, made me jump. I cringed inwardly at the thought of answering.
"I…erm…ah… well, you see, I was…." After the third ellipsis, it became quite clear to me that I wasn't going to think up some great excuse any time soon, so out of pure desperation, I switched tactics. "Well what do you think? I'm in a library, so… so I'm borrowing some books!"
A good offense being the best defense?
Maybe not.
Those strangely stormy grey eyes surveyed the destruction around my awkward self before returning to bore into my own once more.
"I see. You do realize, or course, that this is the Restricted Section—in case the name is lacking in clarity, that means that only students with express permission given from a teacher may enter."
"Oh right," I said, somewhat obliviously, hauling myself to my feet to face him. "And you're one of those students, yeah?"
Riddle's mouth tightened considerably, nostrils flaring as he looked me straight in the eye. "I am a Prefect." he informed me coldly, as if that explained everything.
"Oh."
A brief and graceless silence followed my eloquent speech, and I coughed awkwardly to dispel the quiet.
"Erm… okay then… well, y'know, it was nice meeting you…" I said, taking a few steps away from him in an attempt to leave (never mind the fact that it was in the opposite direction to the door), my feet sloshing through the water on the floor as I moved.
"Stop."
The single syllable was enough to make me freeze in my tracks, and I could've sworn that it was secretly a spell in disguise that was supposed to make all my internal organs stop functioning—because I'm telling you, they did the moment the word left his lips.
Voldemort stood motionlessly for a moment—while I panicked frantically in front of him, of course—before taking a few graceful steps forward towards me, the statue coming to life.
If I was panicking before, then there was absolutely no word suitable enough to describe what the hell I was doing now.
"Before you so abruptly depart, would you care to explain to me first why the entire floor is covered with water?" Riddle inquired politely, having stopped just a few feet away from me, his eyes never leaving my own—dammit, did the man ever blink?
"Huh?" I asked him distractedly, "What—oh. Well then… I …y'know…." I paused, tensely casting my mind around for any excuse any excuse whatsoever…
"Erm… those dratted Nargles, wreaking havoc all over the place, it's ridiculous, really…." I laughed nervously even as I suppressed a grimace at the sheer lameness of my own words.
Riddle sighed, obviously thinking he was dealing with someone quite incompetent—which he probably was, I thought to myself dryly. "Very well. Since it is your first day at this school, Miss de Lioncourt, I will not penalize you for your actions. However," he continued, the threat of a warning evident in both his voice and his eyes, "it is my duty to warn you that this sort of behavior is not tolerable at Hogwarts, regardless of status or…situation."
"How do you know my name?" I interrupted him thoughtlessly, genuinely confused. Oh Merlin's pants, has he used Legilimency on me already?
Riddle gave me a frosty stare in annoyance, obviously disliking my questioning. "It was announced at last night's Sorting if you recall," he replied coldly, his tone clipped.
I immediately felt like the village idiot once I realized my stupidity—and once again suppressed the urge to facepalm. "Er…well, yeah." I blinked.
It appeared my incoherency seemed to be getting worse with each passing second I spent with Voldemort Jr. "Erm… I s'ppose you aren't planning on telling me yours, then…?"
Not that I needed to know it.
Voldemort gave me a long, calculating look as we were bathed in silence once more; I fidgeted under his stare.
"Tom Riddle."
Right. I suppose you don't exactly go around introducing yourself as 'Imma Be A Future Dark Lord' huh?
"Yeah…" I saw the odd look that Riddle gave me and realized that perhaps my reaction wasn't entirely appropriate, "I mean, oh really? Heh, heh…" I chuckled nervously at his expression, which had noticeably darkened.
Silence reigned once more and as I continued to look thoughtlessly into Voldemort's eyes, I became suddenly aware of something, something, in my mind pressing against the barrier of my consciousness and my eyes widened as I realized what was going on.
Immediately drawing on my past lessons with Snape, I Occluded my mind against Riddle, shielding my thoughts from his own and I caught his eyes narrow slightly in surprise—the movement was so subtle I wouldn't have noticed it if I hadn't been staring into them.
His eyes are pretty…
I began to sweat; I definitely had not perfected my Occlumency yet, there had been no time to do so when Mundungus Fletcher had betrayed us, and I didn't know how long I could last…
I needed a distraction, something to take Riddle's concentration away from me so that I could make a run for it, come on Ari—
"Riddle!" I blurted. "Did you know… Gods of Death love apples?"
Ohwhatthefudge.
To my indescribable shock and stupefaction, it worked; Riddle blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"Um, nothing. Oh, would you look at the time (I wasn't wearing a watch), I really must depart for classes—well, it was nice meeting you!"
Not being stupid enough to wait for a reply, I pushed past him, slipping through the entrance to the Restricted Section and power walking my way outside.
Once I was outside of the Library, though, I broke into a run.
Ari, Ari, what have you done? I inwardly berated myself all the while, as I ran up several flights of stairs to get to our meeting in the Room of Requirement, to which I was already exceedingly late to.
Panting heavily as I reached the corridor where I knew the Room was located (after a hasty consultation with the Marauders' Map) I stopped at the blank patch of wall located between the two tapestries of Sir Boris the Befuddled and Morgana the Maniacal.
I need the place where the others from 1997 are… I need the place where the others from 1997 are… I thought as I paced in front of the wall three times to enter.
Before my eyes, the stone melted into a large, mahogany door shaped like an arch, and I reached over, yanking at the door handle as I slipped inside.
The door fell shut with a hollow thud behind me.
"Ari," Harry said from his place on one of the couches in the center of the room, passing a hand over his eyes wearily, "where have you been?"
He stopped when he saw the expression on my pale, blanched face, and immediately, concern shot through his tired eyes. "What happened? Are you alright?"
"I…" I trailed off, searching for the words. "I think I just screwed us over."
Draco let out a loud snort opposite Harry. "Well obviously, Ari, the only real question is how."
"Shut it, Malfoy," Harry responded automatically, his jade eyes never leaving mine. "Ari?"
I hadn't even noticed the jab to snap back at the blonde Slytherin/ Gryffindor; instead I just answered the question.
"I just had a secret rendezvous in the Library with Lord Voldemort."
"You what?"
Ron, from his spot in front of the fireplace, sprang to his feet, flaming red hair mussed up wildly.
"I mean—I didn't say that right—I mean I just met Tom Riddle!" I clarified frantically, beginning to pace in front of the others jumpily. "I was in the Restricted Section—"
"Whoa, wait, what were you doing in the R—"
"Borrowing a book Ronald, will-you-pay-attention!" I snapped at him irritably before continuing on. "And next thing I know, old Whats-His-Face appears and he's all like, 'Only students of statues and Perfect situations can enter' or something like that, and I'm like, 'oh really?', and then he just stares at me like a flippin' chameleon or somethin'—"
"Relax, Ari," Hermione said soothingly from next to Ron, where she sat atop one of the plump pillow- cushions the Room provided. "That's hardly bad—both Harry and Ron met Riddle too last night—"
"You haven't heard the worst yet," I said grimly, stopping my pacing and folding my arms across my chest to face them.
I took a deep, steadying breath. "Riddle… he's a Legilimens. He used it on me."
Silence, yet again, fell across the room—I hated it. I felt like I was drowning in the quiet.
Hermione's eyes had widened fearfully; she was twisting her hands together in anxiety. Ron was less subtle—his mouth had fallen wide open as he heard the last words, and it had stayed open.
I moved my eyes to Harry and Draco and saw that they both had relatively similar expressions—lips pursed in twin frowns.
"Did… did he see anything?" Harry finally broke the silence, much to my immeasurable relief. "Us?"
I shook my head. "No, he didn't. By… some miracle, I managed to keep my head clear for about the five seconds he was inside, then I distracted him and made a run for it."
The tension in the room suddenly lessened ostensibly; it was like everyone had let out a collective sigh of relief.
"Blimey, Ari," Ron sighed, thumping his chest a couple of times with his fist, "You don't just spring something like that on a person!"
"For once, I agree with you Weasley; that was completely unnecessary…" muttered Draco.
"Wait—why are you acting so carefree about this? I—I drew attention to us!" I said, looking around at them. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't it part of the plan not to stand out?"
"Well, if you'd come in here a little earlier, de Lioncourt," Draco gave me a pointed look, " instead of having pleasant little chats with future mass murderers, you would've been aware that there have been a few… changes to the original plan."
"Changes? Like what?"
Harry rubbed his eyes as he blinked a couple of times—it was only then that I noticed the dark, purple bags underneath the normally bright jade. "You'd better sit down for this, Ari, this'll take a while to explain."
There was a sudden pressure on the back of my legs and I looked down to see a plush, purple beanbag materialize behind me, courtesy of the Room.
Sitting down, with my legs crossed Indian-style, and my hands laid expectantly on my lap, I waited for the others to start.
The green-eyed wizard stood up, and began pacing around the room agitatedly, and I watched him with some concern.
"Ok. So, we know from reading Riddle's profile in the black book that Dumbledore gave us—"
"Wait, there was a profile on Riddle?" I interrupted.
Harry scratched the back of his head uncertainly. "Er… yes? Hang on—you guys have all read the book, right?" he said, turning to everyone else in the room.
A somewhat skeptical silence met his answer, and Ron coughed embarrassedly.
"I was gonna get to it, Harry, I swear…"
"Yeah, me too," I muttered, averting my eyes.
"Are you serious?" Harry asked, genuinely confused. "Even you, Hermione?"
"I-I…" Hermione fumbled around before finally burying her face in her hands, her hair sticking up in a wild halo around her head. "I'm so sorry Harry! I didn't get a chance to, I fell asleep!"
"Okay, then, well…" Harry mumbled. "I guess… no more references to that, then…"
Ron rolled his eyes , standing up and clapping a hand on Harry's shoulder good- naturedly. "We don't need a book to know that the bloke's an evil git, mate."
He let out a tired smile. "Yeah, I guess so."
"Anyway," he continued, resuming his pacing. "From what we know of Voldemort, Riddle's future, is that he doesn't exactly care for his associates, yeah? Nor is he the kind of person that would take an interest in just anyone, and apparently, it's a lifelong trait. Even though around his fellow Slytherins, he acts like a—"
"Polite two-faced slimeball," muttered Ron darkly.
Harry blinked, then nodded. "Well, that, you can tell that they bore him, completely."
"And how does that affect us?" I asked him.
"Well, I was thinking…" here a sly smile crept to his normally honest face. "That we should draw as much attention to ourselves as possible."
My eyebrow quirked upwards. "Say what?"
Maybe I hadn't heard him properly…
"As much attention as we can. Capture his interest, intrigue him. That way, Riddle will be forced to come to us, because that's just the kind of person he is—he despises being kept in the dark about things."
Warily, I continued to listen; it almost disturbed me just how much Harry knew the inner workings of Voldemort's mind—at this rate he'd be predicting his next moves.
"And then what?" I asked.
"And then keep his interest. That way there's a greater—not much, mind you—but a greater chance of us getting closer to him, or at least figure out the basic gist of what he's planning, and where he is—and then we can form a better strategy, the more we find out about him."
"Where he is? Couldn't you just use the Map?"
Harry shook his head. "Not when he leaves Hogwarts grounds. And he might, if that's where the location of the Second Locket is."
Hermione added, "The Map doesn't show everything in Hogwarts anyway."
We all stared at her.
"It doesn't?" Ron asked.
"Well, no, of course not." she said knowledgeably, brushing a few stray strands of hair from her eyes. "Even though its magic is highly advanced, not to mention complex, we shouldn't forget that its creators also had limitations in their knowledge. I checked during our third year, Harry—the location of the Chamber of Secrets wasn't written anywhere on the Map, because there was no way the manufacturers could have known about it."
A short, awkward silence passed.
"What?" questioned Hermione, staring at all of us.
"Nothing." I said, a little unnerved. " So basically, catch his attention, get the basic gist of his plan and then find the locket, yeah?"
"Take it right out from under You-Know-Who's non existent nose," Ron said proudly.
"I suppose." Draco's voice was indifferent—and I was reminded forcibly of the conversation we had had the previous night.
"The bastard deserves to die."
They were really going to kill him?
"Well… that's pretty…" I trailed off, not sure of what to think. There seemed to be a lot of holes in this plan. "How sure are you of even getting Riddle's attention, anyway? It's not like he's the type to take an interest other people's well being and day to day activities…"
"Well, thankfully, you've already done most of that for us," Draco said, reclining back in his seat lazily. "Not many people know Occlumency, so, well done, you've captured his attention." He put his hands together in a small, sarcastic round of applause, and I resisted the urge to throw something at him.
"Argh!"
"Anyway," continued Harry, ignoring the sight of Draco desperately trying to put out the flames in his hair as he stowed his wand safely back away into his robes, "That's not the only thing we're going to do to get closer to Riddle."
Hiding a smirk at Draco's singed blonde mop, I asked, "Oh?"
Harry shook his head. "No. I've been thinking about it a lot, ever since Dumbledore mentioned it to us, and even more so when we came here… Ron and I were talking about it last night as well, and we've decided that this—this might be the best thing to do."
"Which is?"
He sighed. "We're going to become Death Eaters."
"What? Are you insane? Why?"
"Well...if we manage to get into his group, we could get some idea of what he's planning, and what he's going to do. Not to mention...stop us for encountering any unexpected...surprises during the school year."
"But...Death Eaters? You?"
"Actually," Ron interrupted rather cheerfully, "they call themselves the 'Knights of Walpurgis', here in 1944."
I stared at him in disbelief. "You're joking. Who's the genius who came up with that name?"
"Riddle himself, apparently," Ron said with a smirk. "You can tell why they decided to change it back in our time…"
"You know, Ron, that's actually quite an auspicious name to pick," Hermione launched into a lengthy speech about German history, much to Ron's displeasure, and I watched the two of them with some amusement.
"You don't think it'll work, do you?" Harry asked me quietly.
"I...I just think that you had better watch your back. I can't tell you what to do...and obviously you're more familiar with all of this than I am...but..." I chewed on the inside of my cheek. "Just try...be careful, alright?"
Harry smirked. "Don't I always."
So… easily broken… the Second Fate crooned as she fingered a Strand between her gnarled and twisted fingers. So… breakable-
Enough, ordered Her sister, the Third. Do not attempt to fiddle with her Life anymore; all will come into place soon. Enough. Time cannot touch her; we are in sole control now. Let her be; she is beginning, although does not know it…
Beginning?
Beginning to accept her Fate.
I slipped quietly through the archway of the Library entrance, only the soft pads of my sneaker-clad feet audible in the deafening silence of the empty Hogwarts halls.
It was so quiet.
Breathing in the familiar musty smell of old parchment and paper that permeated the room, I strode forward, the tip of my wand alight and guiding my way in the half light of dawn.
Last night, I'd decided to get up early the next morning to get the book I'd disguised and hidden between the shelves in the Restricted Section, the one I'd been forced to leave behind when Riddle had barged in. I'd chosen to do it in the early morning rather than at night because, damn, Hogwarts was a freaky place in the dark. Seriously.
I didn't know how Harry and the others had managed to do it, especially in their first year, but I was pretty sure that I wasn't ready to take on Hogwarts at night. Not yet, anyway.
I reached the gate guarding the Restricted Section and tugged at the handle; it was locked.
I guess they lock it at night, I thought to myself, tugging my wand out from my sleeve.
Crossing my fingers, I aimed it at the door.
Pleaseworkpleaseplease—Alohomora! I shouted in my head, brandishing the wand at the object.
With a small rusty 'click' the door swung open, the hinges creaking slightly as it did so and I did a victory dance in my head as I climbed through the entrance.
Boo yah!
Scanning the shelves for the Tome of All Evil disguised as a teen vampire romance, I retraced my steps from yesterday, examining the books I passed for the familiar cover.
My feet stopped dead, however, when I saw the very prominent, book-shaped gap in the middle of the shelf.
3…2…1…
"That son of a-!" I screeched, all thoughts of quiet forgone as I slammed both fists against the shelf, causing it to shake.
He took it! The bastard took it!
"Damn it!" I shouted into the still morning air, my wand lying forgotten on the ground.
How could he have known? I berated myself furiously. Well, then again, the disguise wasn't exactly subtle, Ari—dammit, it's your own fault!
Sinking down to the floor of the library and burying my face in my hands I tried not to think about the consequences of what I'd just done—of course there would be consequences, it was Tom bloody Riddle after all—
No, wait a second.
Voldemort—he made his first Horcrux when he was sixteen, using his father's murder in order to help him do it. Meaning that he was originally searching for it beforehand—that must've been what he was doing when I met him, no wonder he was looking so suspicious—so… there was really nothing I could've done to prevent him from taking it.
Bloody hell, who spends their first day at school researching flippin' immortality, of all things, that psycho—
But…
But in order to actually make the Horcrux… he'd have to know who his father was first, right? Dumbledore himself said he started researching his ancestry in his sixth year… and…
If he didn't know who his father was, if he didn't know his blood status and his life in Little Hangleton, would that make a difference?
Would that prevent his murder?
For the next half an hour I scoured the Library, flicking through the occasional tome and volume that happened to seem like something I was looking for, and more often than not I slammed it back on its shelf in annoyance.
Finally, I drew out my wand.
I hope Hermione was right about doing this … I thought, sweeping my wand around me in a wide arc. Accio Wizarding genealogy books!
Immediately, stacks of heavy volumes zoomed towards me from the shelves I had just left, landing in messy piles around me as I tried to dodge the more substantial ones.
However, my ninja skills didn't prevent one particular book from catching me painfully in the stomach and I fell on my butt for what felt like the umpteenth time that week with a muffled grunt.
"Ow…" I muttered, rubbing the abused spot, and I picked up the offending book, examining its cover.
The Complete History of Wizarding Genealogy by Beatrice d'Orsino.
Something about the title of the book rang a bell inside my head… I was certain I'd heard it before, and I knew it had something to do with me… gah, never mind.
Tucking the book underneath my arm, I surveyed the wreck around me and brought out my wand once more.
Reducio, I thought, waving it at the mess, and the books twitched, flopping over somewhat pathetically.
I sighed and tried again. "Reducio!"
This time it worked; the pile around me shrunk to the size of coat buttons, and I scooped them up and placed them in my pocket, pleased.
Ha, let's see you try and research your family tree now, Riddle, I thought triumphantly, as I skipped my way out of the Library—or attempted to, anyway.
"Where do you think you're going?"
I froze in my tracks; yikes.
Did I walk past them when I came in? I thought furiously to myself as I turned around sheepishly to face the person, whoever the heck they are.
Oops… make that whoever the heck they were.
"You know, you can't just take books out of the Library without borrowing them, you know," the pearly white and semi opaque ghost at the Library desk scolded me haughtily, adjusting the sleeves of his ruffled lace sleeves as he did so.
"Oh, uh…" I stumbled over my words, not sure how to handle my first ever meeting with a Hogwarts ghost. I mean, there was always the screaming and running away option…
I looked down and saw that I was still carrying the Complete History of Wizarding Genealogy book under my arm, which must've been what the ghost was referring to, I realized. "Uh, sorry about that…"
"No matter," sighed the ghost wearily. "Just bring it over here, whatever it is, so that I can stamp it."
"Right…sure."
I brought the tome over to the front desk and the ghost begrudgingly brought out a small piece of rectangular parchment, pushing it towards me. "Sign here, please."
"Ok." I scrawled my signature in the space I was shown, feeling an extremely weird sense of déjà vu as I did so. In my pocket, my wand thrummed gently against my leg.
"I must say, it's rare to find a Hogwarts student so interested in their ancestry," the ghost commented as I wrote—he must've looked at the title of the book.
"You'd be surprised," I muttered, thinking of Voldemort as I finished my entry with one final scribble and handed it back to him. "I'm Ariadne de Lioncourt by the way."
"Sir Constantine du Gaunt, at your service," the ghost said, staring at me idly.
"Gaunt? You're a Slytherin?" I asked, surprised.
"Oh, not more of that House nonsense!" Sir Constantine said irritably, waving a pearly hand. "Honestly, it's all I've been hearing these days—Slytherin this, Gryffindor that, it gets quite boring, I must say, especially after more than a century of it."
"I wouldn't know," I murmured absentmindedly, slipping the library card back in between the yellowing pages of the book. "But I must say, I do agree."
"Well then, good for you, child," the ghost nodded approvingly. "Now off to bed! We ghosts have no sense of time, but even I can tell it's quite early—too early, in fact, for a youngling like you to be out of bed."
"Okay, then, nice meeting you," I waved at Sir Constantine as I left the Library—wow, a descendant of Slytherin who didn't appear to be evil, was it even possible?
Guiltily, I snuck a hand back down into my pocket to see if the other books were still there; the answer was yes.
Good.
And on that note, I crept back up to the Gryffindor Tower.
"You seem to be in a worse mood than usual," Draco muttered in my ear as we entered the dungeon room that served as our Potions classroom and I only grunted in reply.
After waking up at half past two for a bloody book, of all things, then realizing that said book had somehow disappeared, then afterwards sleeping for less than an hour before being woken up by Peeves blowing raspberries in my ear and not being able to get back to sleep after that, plus the fact that raging migraine from yesterday had come back to haunt me… well, that does not make for a happy Ari.
Draco snorted when I didn't answer him. "Women," he muttered.
I glared at him, then plunked myself next to Harry, who was also in our Advanced Potions class, along with Ron—it was a class we shared with the Slytherins, according to our timetable.
"Ari," muttered Harry green eyes narrowed with tension, "Ari, there's something you need to know—"
"Welcome, welcome everybody, to your first Potions lesson of the year!"
My attention as drawn to the front of the room, where a short, rather walrusy man with straw colored hair and a matching moustache clapped his hands enthusiastically as he surveyed the sight in front of him.
"Excellent! Slytherins and Gryffindors; a rather excellent combination if I do say so myself!" he said cheerfully, putting his hands in the pockets of his waistcoat, the buttons of which were straining against his stomach. "Excellent!"
"Right… Slughorn still teaches in this time, doesn't he?" Ron murmured, staring vacantly back at the man.
"Yes, well… ah, I see we have the new students here as well!" Slughorn nodded appreciatively at the four of us. "Well—how about you introduce yourselves to the class, then? Now now, there's no need to be shy!" he said, catching sight of the thunderstruck looks we gave him. "Come on, up to the front you go! It's quite rare for Hogwarts to get permanent transfer students, after all, I believe the last one was in… oh, 1872, or so I've heard… well, now, you begin!"
He gave a flourishing wave at Draco, who stared at the hand as if not quite sure what to make of it.
"My name is Draco de Lioncourt. Both my parents were brutally murdered less than a month ago," he said rather boredly, examining an empty potions bottle that happened to reside on Slughorn's desk.
I coughed— wow, the man really knew how to turn on the tearbuckets, didn't he?
Slughorn blinked, discomfited. "Ah, yes, well…" he trailed off uncomfortably, before clearing his throat. "Well, then, you may sit down, Mr de Lioncourt… er…"
"Sensitive lad, isn't he?" I commented mildly to Ron and he snorted.
"Ah, yes you Mr McDonald! Tell us about yourself!"
"Me?" Ron repeated, looking dumbstruck. "I… I uh… I guess… I'm… German?"
"Oh, is that so? I would've thought you were English, with a last name like that…"
"Er, yes, that's what I meant," Ron said, the tips of his ears rapidly coloring. "I was—am—English… but then my family moved to Germany… where they were, er…" he looked to Harry and I helplessly. "… also brutally murdered?"
My eye twitched.
"Oh… I see. How… unfortunate…" Slughorn was actually sweating by now, drops of perspiration visible on his thatched head, "And you, er, Mr Evans?"
Harry nervously flattened his fringe like he always did when he was the center of attention. "I'm Harry Evans… and I was expelled from my old school for excessive use of Dark Magic on first years." He said with an accompanying smirk that was decidedly un-Gryffindorish.
I choked, and it looked like Slughorn did as well, his face turning that familiar shade of blackcurrant I was getting used to.
"Harry! Harry m'boy… you should know… we (cough) don't do those kinds of things here, at Hogwarts," he stared at him incredulously. "You do know that, yes?"
"Of course, sir," Harry responded solemnly. "I only did it to those who deserved it, anyway…"
And with those final words, he moved back into his seat, leaving me (and Slughorn) in a state of sweaty paralysis alone at the front.
This must be what Harry was talking about when he said to get Riddle's attention and interest, that idiot… but he wouldn't need that here in Potions… unless…
My eyes swiftly roved over the students in the room until they came to rest on a familiar set of steely dark grey orbs.
Tom Riddle.
Tom Riddle was in my Potions class. Oh. My. G—
"And you, Miss de Lioncourt?"
I jumped slightly. "Hm? Oh me? Ah… well…"
Think!
"I'm Draco's sister, obviously… he already covered the 'brutally murdered' part, I suppose…" I saw Slughorn wince at this part, "and, er… well…"
"Any hobbies? Interests?" Slughorn questioned, obviously wanting to turn the conversation away from death and destruction, not surprisingly. "I myself am rather fond of collecting Muggle teacup sets… the china patterns really are quite beautiful…"
"Um, well, it's no teacup collection," I said, my eyes somehow tracing their way back to Riddle, who was watching all of this with a very intent look on his striking face, "but… I'm rather interested in… the Hogwarts Founders' relics? Anything related to their history at all, actually," I added, peeking out of the corner of my eye to examine Riddle's reaction at my words—no dice. The man had a poker face of steel.
"Ah, is that so? So, you've harbored quite the interest in Hogwarts since before you came here, is that correct?" Slughorn asked, seemingly interested.
What a question.
I grinned at the Potions professor. "Most definitely."
"Excellent, then!" Slughorn said, beaming at me. "I'm sure you'll do very well here at Hogwarts, Miss de Lioncourt!"
I don't know whether he actually meant that or if he was just relieved I didn't bring up the usual blood and gore.
I was about to take my seat next to Harry again, but Slughorn stopped me.
"Actually Miss de Lioncourt, I was hoping this year, we would… mix things up a bit, eh?"
I really didn't like that Dumbledore-esque twinkle in his eye.
"Class!" he said, clapping his hands together. "This year we are going to do something different! Today, I will be assigning you partners for the year—no complaints!" he added sternly upon hearing the collective groans from the other students.
"The pairings will be one Gryffindor and one Slytherin, and these will be the partners you will be working with for all assignments and practicals you will be doing in my class."
Ron groaned loudly beside me. "All of them?"
"Relax, Ron, you're in Slytherin, they'll put you with a Gryffindor," I whispered, scowling to myself.
If Fate truly hated me…
As Slughorn called out the names and pairings from the roll he had magically conjured out of nowhere, I slumped down in my seat, waiting for my own to be called whilst thinking of Riddle, which I seemed to be doing a lot of lately.
"Ronald McDonald and Ernest Weasley!"
That must've been what Harry was trying to tell me earlier, before Slughorn interrupted—oh great, just beautiful, he's going to interrogate me about the book!
Well, I thought smugly to myself, that's only if he manages to catch me on the way out of class—because of course it would be far too cliché and utterly illogical for Slughorn to set us as class partners—
"Ariadne de Lioncourt and Tom Riddle!"
Ah, you're kidding. If Fate had a sense of humour, I doubt we'd get along.
" My best student, you're a lucky girl Miss de Lioncourt!" Slughorn commented, smiling at the teenage Dark Lord sitting by himself in the middle of the room.
Harry looked furious beside me, Ron aghast (although maybe that was at the fact that he had just been paired up with his great great grandfather or something), and even Draco appeared to be slightly surprised by the announcement that guaranteed the rest of my life at Hogwarts to be a living hell.
"This cannot be happening," I murmured into my hands, thumping my head once against the desk for good measure. "No no no, of course it isn't, I'm imagining this…"
"Why am I not surprised, though, that that would happen?" Draco muttered to me, a blonde brow lifting as he watched me begrudgingly stand to move into the (surprise, surprise!) empty seat next to Riddle, who had already shifted over his belongings silently.
"Ari, be careful…" Harry warned me quietly—as if I needed it.
Cautiously, I set my second hand school bag on the floor beside the desk and sat down next to the Heir of Slytherin, my heart beating a violent tattoo against my ribs as I did so.
Okay, Ariadne… a little coherency would be nice this time… just don't get yourself killed, and everything will be fabulous…
"Hi."
"Hello," Riddle said quietly, dark eyes flickering to mine as he closed his copy of Asiatic Anti-Venoms, setting it down on the table in front of him. "It seems we meet again, Miss de Lioncourt."
I blinked; well, this was different. Is it me… or did he just change his entire personality?
"Yeah, I guess so." I replied slowly, not sure how to respond to this sudden change in attitude.
He's so polite now… was it really less than 24 hours ago he was invading my mind in the Library?
"Harry Evans and Draco de Lioncourt!" Slughorn called out the next names on the list.
I snickered softly at that; at least I wasn't going to be the only one with a crappy partnership.
It then alarmed me slightly how very Draco I was becoming, laughing at others' misery… but then I figured, if it was Malfoy then it was probably well deserved.
And I say that in the most loving way possible.
I didn't notice the dark pair of eyes that landed upon my face at my laughter, and my attention remained on Slughorn, who was now explaining to us our task for today, having finished reading off names from the roll.
"Alright, let's have a little revision lesson today, shall we? Just to make sure we haven't entirely forgotten everything we've learned from last year, eh? I want you all," Slughorn thought for a moment, gingery moustache twitching in concentration, "to brew me a passable cauldron of the Befuddlement Draught in the next half hour of class. Ingredients are in the student store cupboard, and extra scales and flasks, if you haven't brought them, are in the classroom cupboard next to my desk. Well, then—chop chop!"
Voldemort immediately began work beside me, silently conjuring the materials out of thin air and lighting the cauldron with a flick of his wand; I, on the other hand, was still stuck finding the potion we were supposed to make in the contents page of my copy of Advanced Potion Making.
"Page 457," Riddle murmured quietly beside me, and having jumped at the sound of his voice, as low as it was, I flipped the book to the page he had mentioned, my eyes widening as they scrolled down the instructions on how to brew it.
Ah.
Well.
The potion was seriously complicated—at least, for me it was. Back in 1997, I'd only attempted the most basic of potions—most of them not even qualifying for the title—and even then, I was a failure.
Honestly, I didn't see why Draco had had so much trouble offing Dumbledore in the sixth book; I was pretty sure I'd already poisoned him at least twice during the time he had taught me.
Thank Merlin for bezoars, right?
"Have you made this potion before?"
"Hm?" The sound of Riddle's voice brought me out of my shock- induced stupor, and I stiffened slightly, trying to think of the best way to answer his question.
If I say yes, will he kill me? Will he Crucio me if I say no? 'Maybe' is definitely not an option—asking him to 'repeat the question' is starting to seem like a bloody fantastic idea right about now…
"Oh yes, a few times," I lied to him, closing the book with a sharp 'snap'.
I'll just have to wing it, I thought sadly, really wishing that Slughorn wouldn't attempt to give it a taste test after class. Or I could just let the Heir of Slytherin do all the work for me…
Riddle began to shred the scurvy grass delicately with his long fingers into the cauldron, and I watched, entranced.
He hasn't set anything on fire yet, I marveled inwardly. Amazing.
"If you don't mind me asking…" Riddle's mellifluous voice interrupted my thoughts once more.
So polite, I thought sardonically, and charming, too. He's a great actor, I'll give him that—you can tell how he managed to charm all those people into falling for him, why he needs that Locket to help him, I'll never know… look at that! The soft, questioning, tone, edged with courtesy and touched with the perfect amount of hesitancy… even I had to admire it.
To be honest, though, it made me more than a little unnerved to be around him.
"Yeah?" I asked guardedly; he was on to slicing the sneezewort root now.
"Where is it, exactly, do you come from?" He watched me watching him. "In terms of schooling, that is?"
Suspicious! Suspicious! Suspicious question!
"Why… would you want to know that?" I replied, unable to keep my natural aversion to answering direct questions out of my tone. Granted, he was inquiring about a completely fake background that Dumbledore had given to us just minutes before we enrolled in the school, but it still wasn't any of his sodding business, was it?
"Well…" Voldemort trailed off thoughtfully, idly twirling the knife which he had been using between his fingers; the silver glinted in the light and beads of sweat began forming on my brow. "I suppose I'm simply… curious." He arched a slim, dark eyebrow. "After all, it is not often that Hogwarts gets exchange students from differing countries, as Professor Slughorn has already mentioned…"
It was suddenly, incredibly hot in the Potions classroom; I peeled away some sweaty locks of dark hair from my forehead before answering.
"Drachenrache." I answered, clearing my throat hoarsely. "I—we—used to study in Drachenrache."
It was the school Dumbledore had assigned to us, but I hadn't done much research on it, to be honest—all I'd been told was that it apparently was a very famous school in Germany, although famous for what, exactly, Dumbledore hadn't told us.
Voldemort nodded slowly; the name was obviously familiar to him. "An interesting choice…" he murmured softly, and he resumed cutting the ingredients for the draught, almost as if he was pondering something.
"Hm." I replied warily, watching him again.
It's never a good idea to let a Dark Lord ponder…
Although it looked like Riddle could manage making the potion himself (and indeed, it looked like something he was almost used to) I sort of liked appearing less magically obtuse than I normally did, so I began to measure out some of the ingredients that Riddle cut up on the brass scales that Riddle had also conjured out of nothing, whilst watching Riddle muse and do various other things out of the corner of my eye.
Why is he so interested in our schooling background? I thought, searching furiously for any reason, any reason for his curiosity. Was it because of what Harry said…?
Pungent odors of steam wafting from various cauldrons drifted to where I sat, and I blinked, feeling my head throb and my vision go hazy at the scents.
Setting the powdered lovage root down, I gingerly rested the side of my head on my palm.
The migraine from yesterday (and last night and this morning) had made a reappearance.
I guess I really do have to make another appointment with Madame Laroche…ow…
Peeking briefly around the classroom to check on the others, I noticed that none of the others seemed to be suffering from my symptoms—they seemed complete normal, in fact, so was it just me?
No, no, of course not… that was ridiculous, it was just a migraine, a headache, and that was all…
I winced as I felt the familiar searing pain run through my head and I growled silently at the innocent looking Potions textbook in front of me.
My mind felt slow, sluggish… maybe it was the vapours? Of course, that was probably it… too much steam was never good for a person, anyway…
"Rachsüchtig tod."
I lifted my head off my harms to stare at Voldemort perplexedly. "I'm sorry?"
Riddle gave me a long, calculating look. "Your school motto, wasn't it? Rachsüchtig tod," he paused, dark eyes roving over my own. " 'Vengeful death'."
"Cheerful," I muttered, rubbing my temples absentmindedly.
Everything seemed to have taken on their own aura now, hazy halos that outlined each object, each person.
The cauldron in front of me flashed hues of a dark pewter brown, Slughorn a multitude of deep plums, and Riddle…
Black.
"That's where you get your taste in books from, I presume?"
Dimly I registered little alarm bells sounding off in the back of my mind at the slight change in tone Riddle had used, but I ignored them, instead focusing my befuddled brain on less trivial things… like the elusive color of Mr Voldemort's eyes.
Apparently, though, I stared for too long, and two things happened simultaneously: I felt a brief intrusion into my fogged mind, so quick, I barely noticed it, and suddenly the familiar cover of that bloody teenage phenomenon just floated, unbidden, to the surface of my mind.
Was that what he was talking about? I wondered, stupefied. I guess even Lord Voldemort likes a little 'flutter of the heart' now and then…
"No, I've never really been into the romance genre," I groaned as an answer to his previous question, tearing my unfocused eyes away from his. The jackhammer in my head grew more persistent, and I closed my eyes, gritting my teeth sharply. "You presume… too much…"
"Is that so?" Riddle asked quietly, and I completely missed the red glint flickering across his eyes as I began to busy myself with measuring the amount of armadillo bile needed in a flask.
Let's see, 20 milligrams… or was it 25? Hang on…
"Argh, fudge," I said out loud as I accidentally spilled some of the murky- yellow liquid on the desk in my muddled haze. "Dammit."
I considered jabbing my wand at the mess and hoping for the best, but I decided against it once I realized that setting the entire classroom on fire wasn't exactly a great first impression to make on your second day of classes.
Sighing to myself, I began to clean up the liquid the 'Muggle' way, with an old cloth I had found amongst my potions kit supplies—which I wouldn't have needed if I hadn't "chosen" to do Potions (much less Advanced Potions) this year.
"I'm gonna kill you, Dumbledore," I muttered sourly to myself, momentarily forgetting just who it was I was sitting next to.
Riddle's hand holding the flask containing the belladonna solution froze in its position over the sinisterly bubbling cauldron.
"I'm sorry?" he asked me, and I could detect the barest hint of incredulity in his tone, the slightest fault in his oh-so-casual façade.
"Nothing!" Deciding to just 'go with the flow' of things, I threw the whole lot of armadillo bile into the cauldron, disregarding what the directions in the book said completely—It'll all balance out in the end, I reasoned, crossing my fingers.
"I'm certain you said something a moment ago…" Riddle pressed, searching my pale, sweaty face intently—I winced as I felt the abrupt spike in the pattern of my throbbing head.
Nausea washed over me in green waves and I clamped my lips tightly together, figuring the Heir of Slytherin wouldn't exactly welcome my upchuck over his shiny, shiny shoes.
"We don't all have murderous tendencies, y'know…" I murmured thoughtlessly and my eyes widened as I realized the full magnitude of doom of the words that had just exited my mouth.
The cauldron jerked sharply, but both Riddle and I ignored it.
With eyes that no longer resembled storm clouds but rather freshly spilt blood, Lord Voldemort's gaze locked on to mine.
"Now, why would you say that?" His voice had become softer, silkier and infinitely more dangerous…
Merlin, I thought haphazardly panic seeping into my muddled mind, this situation could not possibly get any worse…
And then the cauldron exploded.
A/N: And there you go.
Found the ending rather annoying, but… I rather liked how everything else turned out in this chap, so yes!
Everyone, thanks so much for all the reviews and favourites, and sorry if I don't get around to replying to them—they're really inspiring, seriously… please keep up the great support (and tell me how I did on writing Riddle!)!
Thanks guys!
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