AN: yeee

The Seventh
Chapter Two: A Dark Promise
- : o : -

It was in the middle of the night after three, Friday going into Saturday. Tom stalked the darkened corridors, hood over his head as he moved swiftly, silently. He'd just come from a meeting out in the forest with his Knights. On the way to his Head Boy chambers, he passed the prefect's lounge.

Sensing something about, curious, he stopped in his tracks, gliding backward slowly.

He could hear nothing coming from inside, though he knew there were entities beyond the door. A silencing charm? Someone didn't want to be heard. With a wave of his wand, Tom unlocked the door. He felt an intake of air through his lungs as he stepped inside the dimly lit room.

There was a scrambling from off the sofa, cursing under their breaths as two fidgeting hulks redressed themselves. Tom steeled his gaze away underneath his hood, not wishing to see anything he didn't want to as he recognized the blonde figure of Daniel Stone tucking in his shirt and buttoning his slacks.

Though who was the unlucky witch?

It was Marion Asher, the Head Girl.

"Oh dear," she swiveled around, righting her skirt and pressing down the mussed tresses of her neatly styled auburn bob. She had a blushing, bashful expression, clearly humiliated from being caught. "So sorry, Tom. Ahem, we were only merely – "

"No need to explain yourselves," said Tom with an elegant wave of his hand. It was all neither here, nor there. He did not care, really, as long as his Seventh was not involved. "I know precisely what you were doing. Anyone with eyes could tell." Then he gave them a harder look, his voice scolding. "The prefect's lounge though? You could have at least picked a place less traveled. I do expect better from you, Asher. You have your own head chambers, after all."

Marion pouted childishly. Tom knew it made her upset that he refused to address her by her first name but despite her being Head Girl, they were not equals.

She'd been after Tom for years, not unlike most of the witches that littered the castle but he would never give in. She was a Hufflepuff and sort of pretty, in certain lights, but not appealing enough to stir him. Interesting that Stone had settled when he realized he couldn't get to the gold.

"We… just got carried away." Marion mumbled, grabbing her cloak and bag.

"Apologies, Riddle." Stone said with only a mild earnest, virtually unfazed by the interruption. "Won't happen again."

Tom could not contain his snake-like smirk. Neither of them would dare question him, not even his fellow Head. "I should hope not, Mister Stone."

Stone sneered at Riddle's smarmy, imperial tone, throwing his cloak over his shoulder.

Whatever you say, prick.

Tom scowled, turning around to burn holes into the Ravenclaw as he walked out the door. "Watch yourself, Stone," he drawled lowly but lightly. Stone appeared to have a wave of fright overcome him as he caught the intensity of Tom's devious stare, the subtle threat laced within his words. "You never know what's lurking around the corner here at Hogwarts, in the dark of the night."

Stone looked as if he might wet himself, taking a few steps down the hall to wait for Asher, but he wanted to be nowhere near the Head Boy. "Lumos," he said, a soft glow bursting around his wand as he pretended to be invested in the scene of one of the nearby paintings.

Riddle did not like to be ignored, he didn't like anything about Daniel Stone. However, the blonde was so far harmless still. If Stone had been a mudblood, Tom might've even considered taking this all a step further. The disrespect Stone held for him was inexcusable.

As Marion slid by him, Tom whispered, "No accounting for taste."

She wasn't sure if he'd meant that as a dig toward Stone, or at her, and neither did Tom. He'd more meant it in regards to Stone, but in reality, he felt the same way about Asher. He was usually quite cordial with the Head Girl, with everyone, but as the imminence of NEWTS and graduation loomed on the horizon, Tom had begun to care less and less.

Marion's brow had furrowed, feeling hurt but she stiffed her neck high, pretending there had been no insult. "Goodnight, Riddle." She pranced to Stone, grabbing his hand. "Come. We'll go back to my rooms."

Tom rolled his eyes, the entire interaction having caused an overall feeling of incredible annoyance.

That's it, run off little imbeciles, he was thinking and headed in the other direction to his own rooms. There was a perpetual impatience, an eager restlessness that was always brimming inside him, threatening to spill over. It all felt worse now than it'd ever been.

He had to find a way to get relief, to release this tension. The next time he got a chance with Anemone Fell, he had to make some real progress. He was going to be bolder than before.

- : o : -

Every Saturday afternoon, Anemone took a long walk around the castle grounds, sometimes going up to Hogsmeade for a butterbeer or two. It was one of the few times during the week when she allowed herself to be free from studying or having to tend to other responsibilities.

This was a bright, cool day in the middle of April, the sky blue but the air brisk. Anemone was headed for one of her favorite places. It was not far from the lake, in a region where she could still see the owlery nearby. There was a grassy glen surrounded by trees, with one particularly large one she enjoyed sitting under to read. Several lacewing fly bushes dotted the outskirts, and the subtle glow of them and calming white noises of nature nurtured her soul.

She sat below the gnarled branches, granting her some shade and cracked open to the page she was on previously, of one of the muggle romance novels her mum had lent to her. It was the only wanton solace she would permit herself. She did not trust herself to refrain from falling head over heels again, so she would read about others who did.

"Please Henry! I can't go on like this any longer."

Henry was nonchalant in his demeanor, his facial expression. He was always much, much too casual for Margaret's liking. He never gave anything away. It drove her to a frenzy! "Go on like what, Miss Maggie?" he said coolly, playing innocent.

"You cannot just go around, pulling me away like you did, stealing kisses from me only to pretend like you didn't… like I was just nothing!" Margaret lamented on, stuttering and furiously gripping the edges of her skirt. "I mean, can't you see what you do to me?"

"So that's it…" Henry muttered under his breath, growing closer and closer to Margaret until he had her backed against the stone wall of the cottage, sequestered away under the trees, beneath the moon's soft streams of light. He chuckled as his nose found itself by her ear, tingling her, shivers to her toes. "I'd first like to feel what I do to you."

Anemone's thighs rubbed together, a deeply libidinous, trembling ache she tried to squeeze away. All she could think about was someone saying that to her, someone very specific.

She hadn't seen Tom Riddle yet today, which was a great triumph in her mind, yet still… she almost wanted it, wanted similar, unbidden words spoken in regards to her from his lips. She hated to admit it, hated herself for it, and had not a clue why she was enduring further torture by reading such a stimulating book.

About twenty minutes had gone by and Anemone had defaulted to daydreaming, meditating, currently resting her head back against the tree. The novel was still open in her lap, but despite being so unwelcomingly aroused, she was vaguely relaxed.

Yet moments, good or bad, did not last forever.

"Is the book really that boring?" A sensual drawl stirred her to attention, including the chittering snickers from several others.

Tom Riddle, she should have known, accompanied by four of his cronies. Sodding Slytherins.

"Not as boring as a potential conversation with you lot."

"Ooooo…." Each of his thugs crooned, entertained by her quip.

"That cuts deeply," hissed one of them sarcastically, Francis Mulciber.

"I'm so hurt!" another, Callum Avery feigned agony, clutching at his chest theatrically. They were all laughing except Riddle.

"Damn shame that is, Fell," Iain Rosier was shaking his head in false disappointment. Anemone knew him a little better than the others as he was one of the Slytherin prefects and in more of her classes.

Romulus Lestrange, whom Anemone liked the least, glared at her darkly. "We'll be on our way then, Miss too good for anybody."

Anemone fumed in embarrassment, her jaw tight. She could feel their malice, the rage. They were all mean boys. People were usually the company they kept, and Tom Riddle was at the center of their world. That honestly told her everything she needed to know about the Head Boy, not that it was a newfound realization, just a more cemented one.

None of his underlings had ever tried to court her, or swoon her, which was completely swell with her, obviously. All of them were repulsive, their personalities, their values, even the ones who were slightly attractive. They cared far too much about purity and blood status, wealth, and had begun to make sure people knew it now more than ever. Riddle had been less vocal about it, but he was definitely the one leading and encouraging the entire thing.

It was so clear to her now, she just hadn't wanted to see it. She supposed she had given Riddle the benefit of the doubt because he was the Head Boy, the most brilliant and hard-working student in school, yet Anemone had known he was too perfect.

Tom remined smug and assertive, saying, "You all go on ahead. We'll meet up later. I want to have a word with Miss Fell."

"Aye," Avery nodded his head, the boys all shared wondering looks with each other and then walked off as per instructed.

"What makes her think she's so special?" She could hear Mulciber growling in the distance before she could not make out the conversation anymore, only the echoes of their cruel sniggers.

Tom had to remind himself to have a little talk with those insufferable minions of his later. He knew his lot very well and could foresee them formulating some unwarranted plots in their minds. They would not lay a hand on this witch. He'd have to announce to them his claim on her, felt a fool now for not having mentioned it to them before. It was absolutely none of their business, but if Tom had to make it so, he would.

Anemone could have taken a breath of relief, if Riddle had not chosen to linger.

He leaned tall against the tree above her and she quickly covered the novel in her lap with her hands, hiding as best she could the content she'd been perusing. Anemone peered upwards, trying not to admire the way his bare forearms flexed as he crossed them, his sleeves rolled to the elbows. A crisp breeze rolled by, but Riddle did not seem chilled by it in the least.

"Another moment of the privilege of your time," he purred, lofty.

"Honestly, Riddle," she started, feeling no tolerance for his mind games. "I don't know how much more sarcasm I can take today. So if you could kindly get it over with, you know, whatever you wanted to have a word about. That would be just lovely."

Tom chuckled. "I wasn't being sarcastic, love." Anemone's eyes widened at the tone of affection. "I have no real words for you. 'Merely wanted to bask in your beauty."

She almost laughed out loud. So now he was buttering her up? Ugh. What was she even supposed to say?

"H'oh really now?" she chortled, putting on her best brave face. "And what should I be doing, basking in yours?" Anemone could have smacked her forehead for saying that.

"You definitely should," he replied confidently, slinking down until his body had smoothed beside hers against the tree, one leg extended out all lackadaisical-like. His arm was pressed to her shoulder and Anemone instinctively closed her book so he would not see.

She could not look him in the eyes, was afraid of what she would find there, knew what she would find. "Please, don't make me laugh." It took everything in Anemone not to stammer over her words, the heat of her skin flaring, burning up.

His soft, lush voice hit her directly in her secret spots, right where it counted. "It isn't a joke, Anemone."

Anemone now, is it?

She still refused to look over, unsure how to respond. What was he doing to her? Then, there were fingers gliding over her cheek, curling gently under her face, her chin where he forced her to turn and meet his dark gaze.

Anemone couldn't believe she hadn't recoiled from his touch, not run away from him as she had planned if he'd ever tried to do this to her. No, instead she stilled, blinking up at Tom unsurely. Her heart was thrumming wildly in her ribcage, she just knew he could hear it pounding against her.

"There," he said with a sigh. "Let me see those eyes of yours." His thumb ran across her lips, long fingers pressing onto her, sweeping into her hair. Anemone was wholly entranced by him, hypnotized by his crystalline brown, almost black stare. His mouth hovered ever closer, licking his delicious-looking lips. "Just do it." Her expression was questioning and he added, their breath mingling, "I know you're thinking about it. Why not just give in?"

"I – I can't," she sobbed inwardly. Anemone knew if he were to close the short distance between them, she wouldn't be able to stop it.

"You're trembling," he murmured, his hand delicately fanning over her decolletage, her neck and she half-closed her eyes. It felt unreasonably good, she wanted his hands to travel lower, needed Tom Riddle to touch her all over. "You mustn't be afraid of me."

She was afraid, especially of him. His nose brushed against her cheek, lips tenderly skimming her skin. Anemone gasped lightly when he dipped lower, feeling his breath against her neck, in her hair where he hungrily inhaled her, engulfing himself in her womanly scents as if she were the only oasis in a dry desert. She hadn't even realized she was leaning back further now, a sneaky arm having laced behind her, around her waist.

"You smell divine," his whispered adoringly. "What I wouldn't give to taste you."

A tiny, strangled whimper escaped her, scandalized. Tom watched as her legs rubbed together, her skirt having hiked up to reveal the tops of her thigh-high stockings, the garters that held them up. He was almost being presented a view of whatever silken panties might lay beneath.

Tom couldn't resist; foxily his fingers swept, slowly, titillatingly down the outside of her bare thigh, catching the edge of her stocking, causing gooseflesh to blossom over her golden skin before he squeezed the thickness of her lightly.

In reality, he had hardly even done anything to her yet, but damn it all, he felt like nothing else, better than the stupid boy she'd previously thought herself in love with. No one spoke the way Riddle did, touched the way he could. Anemone was teeming with desire, wet and hot, her skin singing, blood buzzing.

Anemone's arm shifted and the book that was on her lap fell over to the grass. With an interested flash of his eyes, Tom picked it up. He read over the title, the Gardener and the General's Daughter, by Winnifred Smith. Muggle garbage.

"A filthy book for a filthy girl," he almost spat, tossing it away. Anemone, triggered, grabbed his striped Slytherin tie and pulled him back toward her lips, glowering deeply, shooting all the hate she could for him into his gripping gaze. Something was nudging her about that comment, as if he were making a jab at the muggle part of her heritage.

Her mouth opened and shut several times, her head shaking back and forth as she struggled against her anger, the lustful tension. "I – you're – " His hand rested on her belly now, crushing his fingers delectably into her side. It tickled her badly, body squirming, her chest heaving. Damn him.

A pompous little smirk, a snicker. "Cat's got her tongue."

"You're awful." Anemone said finally, though she knew she was loving how he made her feel, even despite her disgust.

His grip on her tightened, coiling his arms further; thumb grazing the underside of her breast over her jumper. The arm around her back snugly fastened her completely against him, tips of his cunning fingers dipping into the top of her skirt by her hip. Tom needed to feel more of her velvet skin but he could barely get to any of it.

Not to mention, this wasn't the greatest place to be shedding clothes. Anyone could walk by, and he had literally just chastised the Head Girl for something similar.

They were no longer against the tree, Tom having practically pinned her to the ground now. His knee had nestled between her legs and instinctively Anemone rocked onto him. Her eyes had closed, relishing the feel of his hard body, his firm grip, unable to comprehend anything else.

Tom cupped her jaw, lightly sniffing the side of her face, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth where he lingered. He chose, strategically, hesitantly, to unwind himself from her and stood, dusting off his uniform. He would leave her wanting him, and wet like he knew she must be. She would be mad not to seek him out after this.

Anemone could not believe neither what just transpired, nor that he had actually let her go. Relief, she felt that he had released her, but the rest of her felt unhinged, still so desperate to be soothed.

He'd even almost kissed her for real. How could he do this to her? It wasn't fair. She would never be able to focus or relax after that.

Tom could feel visions of her thoughts behind his eyes. "Come find me, Fell." He offered, though a part of him worried she would not, timid lamb that she was. "Come find me, or I will find you." It was the most tempting of threats, a dark promise.

Like the prey being hunted, Anemone would run and hide, but just like the wolf, Tom would make sure to snatch her up before she got away him.

- : o : -

AN: yee haw