AN: Thank you to commenter aisha_hx! You gave very good & intriguing insights that were helpful to me. You are correct, Anemone is an ice queen, whoops lol. She momentarily lost her way because Tom is just that good I guess haha but don't worry, now that he's given her a breather, she has time to rethink her choices.

Also, anything Tom might say or think are not my actual opinions or anything, it is merely his point of view, his feelings. No one said anything but I felt I should put that out there anyway. I am not shallow nor do I think of people like objects the way Tom Riddle does. I'm sure that was obvious, but now it's out there just in case anyone was planning to behead me. I'm really not used to writing innately evil characters, but it is fun regardless teehe

And Tom Riddle may just yet change his tune, to the best of my abilities while still keeping him as in character as possible. He puts Anemone on a pedestal, yes but Tom doesn't believe in love. I'm going to try to eventually make the snake feel it anyways ;0)

The Seventh
Chapter Three: The Demon's Dance
- : o : -

For the rest of the weekend, Tom got through his tasks, the studying but he wasn't really in it, as he simmered over what he'd done to Anemone under the tree.

He had shown her what could be, had laid his hands on her, salacious but sweet. He'd left her wanting him, but after such a brazen show of sensuality, Tom felt he needed to take a step back again. It was time to make a show of a genuine courtship.

A witch like her probably preferred a more gentlemanly effort on his part and so far, all he'd been was a scoundrel. Tom did think she enjoyed a bit of his dastardly side, but he'd realized he had to show her more propriety, decorum – even though that strategy hadn't worked for her other suitors.

It would work for him.

It wouldn't do Tom well to go groping her out in the open the way he had. It was too much too fast. He just hadn't been able to help it, all his restlessly sexual energy and nowhere decent to put it. Tom usually held so much more self-control. Sex had never been on the forefront of his mind, but Tom's appetite had felt insatiable lately.

He would return to treating her the way an upstanding, courteous man would. That didn't mean he wouldn't still have some fun toying with her, but he was going to show the others that she was his. He would convince Slughorn to have a spur of the moment gathering, making the lout believe it was his own idea. Then he'd ask Anemone to be his date, like a real, good little schoolboy would.

Tom would attend to her all night and make her feel seen, listened to, appreciated. He would show her off to the entire Slugclub, further staking his claim to several witnesses. Women loved that sort of recognition, didn't they? He had never deigned his other conquests worthy enough to be seen with him in such a way, all romantic and public about it.

Tom typically stuck with his lads, or by himself, Slugclub or not. When he arrived with Fell on his arm, the unfamiliar sight of him so close to the opposite sex – it would be a grand display of Tom's supposed feelings. They would be the talk of the castle.

Deny it all she might, but Anemone Fell had to know, surely, that she was interested in Tom. Wouldn't she not like it if he'd shown the determination to win her over?

Not that he was going to make her his girlfriend, or anything.

The day that ever happened, hell would freeze over.

- : o : -

She could not believe, could not comprehend why she had allowed Tom to get away with what he did. Anemone had forgotten herself, had let him pin her down, touch her, smell her. What had she been thinking, and how dare he? Seriously. He was cruel. She would never speak to him again if she could help it, though she knew that was unrealistic.

All she had to do was avoid him the best she could until graduation, which at the moment seemed too far away.

It was Monday again and Anemone was in one of the greenhouses, lingering after Herbology class that early afternoon. She'd harvested some dittany, shrivelfig and finally she was onto the fluxweed. She was halfway through her clippings when she heard footsteps down the wiry metal stairs.

She turned to look, hoping it was Professor Beery.

Oh drats.

A confidence-laden Tom Riddle was swaggering up to her, tall and straight-backed. "Slug Club soiree on Friday's eve. I'm meant to spread the word. You'll be going, right? Care to join me?"

"No." Was her simple and flat reply, and it wiped the smirk right off Tom's face.

"Come now. I've heard almost everyone has a date already, and you don't want to go alone do you?"

"Perhaps I won't go at all. He'll have an end of the year party like he always does. I'll go then."

His shiny shoes gleamed in the sun-swept room as he sidled closer and closer. The glittering light of it was catching her eyes, distracting her. She was almost through, just a couple more snips. "Well, that just won't do. Slughorn wouldn't like that, nor would I."

"I don't care what you'd like, Riddle."

"Oh, I'm sure that you do. I'm – "

"Don't you tell me what I like, Head Boy."

"You really are waspish, especially today but I must say, I like that." Tom did, but he also didn't. Eventually, Fell would surrender to him, obey, kneel for him. "It is amusing."

That was the wrong word choice.

"I'm amusing?" She wanted to snarl like a lion but with great effort, retained her ladylike composure.

"Amusing, awe-inspiring, pleasing to the eye, as I've previously conveyed," he cooed, circling her like a falcon. "A bonified muse, amiright?"

Awe-inspiring? Oh, that was rich, she was thinking. "So I'm your muse, then? Guess I don't have a choice in the matter."

A set of his knuckles glid down her arm, tugging on a lock of her hair and her eyes closed in frustration, quivering. "Muses usually don't."

"Get away from me!" She elbowed him in the gut, aggressive and Tom almost flinched, catching him off guard.

"Are you a virgin?" He queried suddenly and she could have sworn she felt her soul leave her body.

Anemone was on fire, her face beet red. She began throwing all of her things, the containers of the clippings of plants she came for in her bag as delicately but hastily as she could. "That is none of your business."

Tom already felt he knew the answer. "You're not, are you?"

"Stop it." She warned, a growl on her tongue. She'd had enough. "I'm leaving."

"I'm sorry." Tom purred lightly, but he was the usual smirking devil.

Anemone did not think he felt sorry. She ran out of there as fast as possible, though he thankfully did not follow.

Though on Wednesday, he caught up to her in the hallway, his Head Boy badge glistening proudly.

"Come on, go with me to the party," he'd said, his tone more firm this time around. "I'm not going to beg you, Fell. You'll miss your chance, you know. Carol Clearwater asked me to go with her. I told her I'd give her an answer tomorrow."

"Well then, I hope you and Carol Clearwater have a wondrous time." She spat indignantly. He was so bloody full of himself, Anemone had no idea why it still managed to surprise her.

"You're really not going?"

"I… haven't decided. Probably not."

"Shame, then." Tom knew his plans had been somewhat momentarily stilted, his Slugclub party idea seemingly not working… but he would soon figure it out. He always did. "See you around." She would come to the soiree, he just knew it.

Anemone wanted to scream, and almost did as he strode away, leaving her standing there in the corridor. Carol Clearwater… the irreverent trollop. Clearwater was one of her main sources of irritation and had never liked Anemone. She was also a Ravenclaw and in the Slugclub too. When Anemone had made prefect last year instead of her, Carol had felt wronged, been livid over it.

She was nothing like her twin siblings, Simon and Prudence, who were the fifth year prefects and far kinder and pleasant to be around. Carol, like Riddle, had an ego and thought she was the proverbial bee's knees of their year. She was blonde and beautiful and had a very slender but athletic build seeing as she was their Chaser on the quidditch team. Quidditch was her favorite pastime besides primping and making sure she looked her best, even on the pitch.

Anemone had seen her skulking around Riddle a lot over the years, and wondered if the two of them had a hidden history. That thought agitated Anemone to no end. She felt a searing revenge raging within her blood.

Riddle was trying to make her jealous and succeeding? Anemone felt great humiliation, she wanted to get back at the both of them somehow, a secret vindictiveness edging its way to the forefront of her brain.

Dickon Weasley was a Gryffindor and a Beater on his team. He was one of the eldest among several Weasleys, all in different years, siblings or cousins. Dickon was a wily troublemaker in the light-hearted sense, and pretty adorable. The best part was that he was Clearwater's ex-boyfriend, the second best part was that Anemone's potential date didn't have to be in the Slugclub.

The third best part was that Anemone knew Carol was not completely over her prior lover. She would be furious to see him escorting her to the party, and Dickon was smitten with Anemone, but very amicable and respectful too. They were great friends, Carol had always resented it.

Anemone did not think Dickon would mind allowing her to parade him around in front of everyone. He was always very sociable and comfortable being around all different walks of life, and he never missed a chance to mess with the easily triggered Carol.

The appealing little plot began swirling through Anemone's eyes, and she rushed back in the direction of the Great Hall.

- : o : -

Tom was feeling immense boredom, half-listening to the already drunken Slughorn drone on, here or there his date asking stupid questions. Carol had been genuinely excited he'd accepted her offer to attend together, but her affections for him were far from mutual.

Carol was a beauty in lavender and pearls. She looked great tonight, but his thrill for her was long over. Tom had conquered Carol once already in sixth year, well, twice actually, right before she began dating Weasley.

Tom had only agreed to go with Carol on the grounds that this was a platonic date, and he'd been serious about that. He was saving himself, building his tension up for Fell only, for whenever she finally came around.

Thankfully, people knew how Tom felt about Clearwater and were well-aware that this union was merely a friendly one. There was no earth-shattering shock from them arriving together, nary a whisper. It would have been different if Anemone had been beside him.

Yet then, she was there, fashionable and fashionably late.

Tom could not help the flash of excitement across his gaze, his energy igniting as he feasted upon the sight of the gorgeous Anemone Fell in an extremely flattering dress. She blew everyone else out the water, almost all eyes on her.

Her arm was glued around Dickon Weasley's. He and his dirty redheaded family were a load of muggle lovers, plus he was Clearwater's ex. Fell could not have picked anyone worse to come with.

Tom could have cracked the glass chalice in his hand, the grip of his fingers tightening around it, imagining Weasley's neck in its place. He could feel the heat of Clearwater's energy rising beside him. They were seething ferociously together. It was almost comical.

He had to give it to Anemone, coming here with Weasley was a cleverly annoying move. It seemed as if she were finally ready to play cupid's chess.

Weasley was cleaned up to the best of his abilities, hair handsomely styled, sporting a tux, dress robes like the rest of the wizards. Still he looked so average standing with Fell. It should have been Tom escorting her, not some third-rate Gryffindor.

Fell wore an off the shoulder, ankle-length gown with kitten heels. The dress was a pale rose color, almost white, and it really complimented both the natural pinks of her strawberry gold mane and bronzed skin. She looked like a midsummer's angel, which was in stark contrast to Tom who was a demon in all black.

Fifteen minutes later found Tom sitting in a large highbacked, green velvet chair. With one hand he fidgeted the black and gold signet ring adorning his middle finger, staring hatefully toward Weasley. Apparently he'd just uttered something hysterical. Anemone was making a show of giggling, but Professor Slughorn didn't think it was so funny, a look of puzzlement on his dazed jolly face, splotchy red from the liquor.

Slughorn let the older students drink firewhiskey, wine or mead. Most of everyone in his year were on their way to being obliterated by their drinks. Though Tom preferred to keep a cool head, he indulged himself tonight and was currently finishing his second chalice of pinot noir. Tom could usually hold his alcohol well, but he didn't want to overdo it.

"I've got pumpkin pasty's and treacle tarts," a sixth year Hufflepuff, Lyle Pippin walked by with a platter.

Tom did not answer, completely disinterested. The others sitting around him, however, took some of the offered sweets.

"Very impressive to want to open your own business, Miss Fell," Slughorn whirred in delight as he teetered closer towards the students in Riddle's circle. "An apothecary! You're a natural entrepreneur."

"Thank you, sir." Anemone replied, doing her best to set her eyes on anything but Tom.

"Why, Mister Pippin here, the potion business runs in his family, down at Hogsmeade as you're well aware. Oh yes, a pasty for me, thank you, Pippin," the older wizard turned back to Fell, crumbs dribbling from his partially open mouth as he snacked in between ramblings. "You'll have to pick a good location, mm yes. Somewhere in true need of an apothecary, unless of course, you wanted to gain a new rival, ay? That would be exciting,"

The only ones who were actually still listening to Slughorn were Fell and Riddle.

"Yes, professor. You're right, I'll certainly need to select the right locale."

Riddle grazed fingers over his jaw in consideration from overhearing her aspirations, wondering if her skills and possible future business might be of eventual benefit to him. What if he could actually get Anemone on his side, the real side? Though the thought of it was farfetched, it wasn't impossible.

Then, he could always have her around for when he needed her to help him, when he needed someone to play with, to torment, to, to…

Well, that sounded basically like a damned girlfriend, didn't it? He was letting himself get carried away.

It was all a pipe dream, as they say. Anemone was a nice, compassionate witch. She used to say she wanted to be a healer. Tom would need intelligent people like her on his side but she would probably never go for the purist ideals, their values. She would feel revolted by his lack of remorse…

Unless Anemone felt herself completely in love with Tom, or he took away her free will – which when it came to his conquests he wouldn't do – there was only a tiny chance of that little fantasy happening.

And love wasn't even real anyway.

Disgust had apparently marred his features, his brow furrowed. Lounging close by in their little circle, both his date and the Head Girl noticed.

"What's wrong, Tom?" Clearwater questioned, concerned but mirthful. "You look like you're ready to swoop around and breathe fire on us."

Everyone who heard looked over to stare at him and snicker. "He looks ready to do more than that…" Marion Asher mumbled to herself. Ever since the night Tom had walked in on her and Daniel, she had felt exceedingly indignant toward, and frightened by her fellow Head.

He cleared his throat, feigning politeness. "Not at all. I'm… simply just wondering why we aren't dancing to this splendid music." He stood and with the grace of a cat, extended his arm to his date. "May I have your hand, Miss Clearwater?" Tom was certain this move would infuriate the object of his desire.

Carol beamed happily and shrugged. "Alright," she replied and allowed him to lead her to the center of the room.

Riddle swayed her back and forth in synchronization to the lively baroque tune. Their palms came together as they swirled around, switching places and facing each other again. He could feel the whole room's attention on them. He stole a sneaky glance at Anemone who was failing at not appearing bothered by the situation.

Several more couples joined the floor and Carol noticed Tom's triumphant smirk when finally, Anemone pulled Dickon into the fold. "Don't think I'm not seeing what's going on here," Carol drawled with a tone of irritation and Tom could have chuckled.

"I have no idea what you're referring to,"

"Uh huh."

Clearwater was more perceptive than Tom had originally given her credit for, and it had been rather amazing how indifferent she was behaving at seeing her ex-boyfriend here. Carol had hardly spared the redhead a glance since they walked in. Perhaps Miss Fell's little plan wasn't quite producing the outcome she had hoped, but the night was still young.

"Oh good gracious, I'm so sorry Amy," apologized Weasley, awkward after stepping onto the tips of her toes. "Really, I've got two left feet. I should have mentioned it."

The smirk on Tom's face was ever prominent.

"It's alright, really. It doesn't hurt. I'm sorry, we don't have to dance. I didn't think we'd be trying to keep up with all these experts tonight," Anemone said, glaring haughty daggers in Tom's direction.

"I can still do this!" Weasley said, and she squealed suddenly as he bent her in a clumsy dip.

At the carefreeness of her date, Anemone laughed.

The sound of it was better than any music. Tom wondered if he could make her laugh that way.

Then, as if on cue the song ended and a much slower, romantic melody trickled into the candlelit parlor.

Tom made a split decision. He whispered into Carol's ear, "Just go with whatever happens, you got me?"

Carol froze, unsure. "What are you talking about?"

"Just roll with it, Clearwater."

Carol fumed, eyeing her date in trepidation as he approached Dickon Weasley.

"Weasley," Riddle greeted. "I believe Miss Clearwater would like to have a word."

Dickon shared a look with Anemone, unconvinced by Riddle's all too obvious act. "Is that so?"

"Was there a moment I stuttered?" Riddle was a striking, silver-tongued scorpion.

"If Carol wants to speak with me, she can say so herse – "

"Dickon," Clearwater meandered into the fray. Weasley's glimmering eyes swept over his ex-lover, hesitant. Despite his enjoyment in making her life hell, Dickon still cared a lot for Carol. "Will you come with me?"

There was a pause, and then, "I – yeah, alright. I guess," said Weasley, taking her offered hand. He had a long history with a lack of ability to say 'no' to the blonde bombshell.

Anemone glowered spitefully at them all. Dickon was a traitor! She watched as Weasley followed her rival like a love-sick puppy dog into a secluded corner of the room.

Tom felt elation from that going over so well. "Care for an expert's touch, Miss Fell? I can show you how a dance is done right."

Anemone's whole body was ridged as Tom Riddle's fingers enlaced her waist. The majority of her was repulsed, yet that other smidgeon of her, the one that was supremely attracted to him, was the reason she didn't pull away. Well, that and the fact that she didn't want to make a scene.

"I don't want to dance with you," she tried.

"And yet you are." Tom returned and he swirled her closer to him, one of his hands softly grasping hers, palm to palm. He was very proper about it all, his movements fluid as if he were well-practiced. Anemone squirmed, so many lovely but unwelcome sensations; the vibration of his lustful warmth, that hard, thin torso; electricity from his lips skimming by her ear when he spun her near.

She could not help it, after all, as Anemone gradually melted more comfortably in Riddle's arms. Damn you and your skilled hands, she thought begrudgingly. Tom felt triumphant, as he could hear her, could feel the innate hate rolling from her in wanton waves, the desire she so refused to embrace. It was written all over her face, in her eyes.

He had never ever danced, not once in his miserable life. Yet somehow this had mattered little when it came in the way of Tom's tenacity. He was not skilled, not an expert like he feigned at all… but thankfully, he seemed to know what to do with himself and how to lead anyway. The less he tried to do, the better the results. He kept it simplistic but smooth.

Every single head had turned, hushed gossip whirring amongst the students present to see. Finally, people were paying attention the way he needed, witnesses to the previous ploy he'd had in his head earlier that week. Now, to keep laying on these charms of his.

"I've never seen anyone like you." Tom told Anemone lowly, earnestly.

Anemone rolled her eyes, not answering verbally and then a tiny, adorable sound escaped her as Tom dropped her very low, his arm wrapped securely around her. The maneuver was much more agile than Dickon's had been, and she felt somehow right where she should be, as Tom quickly whipped Anemone back up, holding her against his chest.

"You must hate me so much." His velvet voice swept over her neck and it was tickling her, her body trembling in his hands.

"Quite frankly, I hate you more than anything,"

Tom almost laughed, amusement dancing in his dark gaze. "More than anything, ay? Not just anyone?"

The audacity of Riddle was infuriating. "Was there a moment I stuttered?" she jabbed, mimicking what he'd said to Dickon just moments earlier.

Tom 'tsked' in a scolding manner. "My, my, you know, I happen to be familiar with the very best way to utilize such… hatefulness."

"I don't want to hear it, Riddle."

"Don't they say," continued Tom, unwilling to desist. "That hate and love could be construed as one in the same?"

"Oh please, don't tell me you believe that rubbish,"

Tom's eyes momentarily widened. It could very well be that Miss Anemone Fell was incredibly more on his level than he had initially thought.

His fingers circled her waist and he lifted her high atop him, watching as her lips formed a small 'o' of surprise. Everyone in the room looked on in awe while the Head Boy slowly, sensually swayed her around in his gripping hands, Anemone's eyes never leaving his.

The romantic piano was ending, the last few notes sad and somber and Tom gently returned her to reality, her heels coming back down to the floor.

Tom was not going to give up. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles, his beckoning stare casting spells over her. "I'll be on the balcony." He was going to give her the choice. What would she dare to do? Would she keep ignoring him, giving him the cold shoulder, or would she actually be willing to talk to him? A piece of him was very doubtful of it.

They were still playing cupid's chess, and it was her move.

- : o : -

AN: meow ruff

Yes, we'll be making fun of Weasley's name at some point because I have the maturity of a sixteen year old.