AN: thank you so much to everyone for all the reviews/feedback & kudos! I seriously appreciate it more than I can express. You're the lights of my little life.

misslucyfierce - I'm sorry it's been so slowburn-y. I am usually guilty of jumping right into the smut so I was attempting self-control teehe thank you for leaving your kind comment, I'm so glad you have been enjoying my rendition of Tom.

The Seventh
Chapter Five: Long Live the King

- : o : -

He was a fucking idiot.

That was just about the dumbest thing Tom had ever done, as well as said.

He had no idea what came over him. It was a slip of the tongue, he hadn't meant it. He really, really hadn't.

But he said it all the same, and he'd said it all wrong. Tom had never been so awful with his words before, had never been so tactless, careless with any other living individual in his young life.

What was this wench doing to him?

Tom was all out of sorts, to say the very least.

He just about stomped the whole way to the forest, and no, of course the imbeciles he deigned to call 'friends' were of no solace for his fierce mood.

He actually almost killed Romulus Lestrange, had heavily considered doing it right there where they stood on the leafy, moss-ridden and stony plateau which they used to train over and duel.

As soon as he arrived, Tom was bombarded with each of his cronies' thoughts, and each and every single one of them were thinking about Anemone – as if Tom was an everlasting reminder to why they couldn't lie their grubby fingers on her.

And they would, the bastards, if Tom was not part of the picture.

No one knew that Tom could read minds and was only getting better at it every day. He had only just begun to let on about it to his little band of thugs. He was tired of allowing them to sass him around in their brains, letting them think they had one over on him. Though he enjoyed understanding how his fellow Slytherins truly felt, and what they wouldn't say, he also demanded the utmost respect from them.

It wasn't long into a practice duel between himself and Lestrange that he heard the inner deceit.

I should take him out. I want to be the one in charge.

Why is it always him?

I'd fuck that snooty little witch of his so hard she'd forget all about –

"Crucio!" Tom hissed, red jets streaming from the tip of his wand.

Lestrange crumpled to the ground. He held himself in the fetal position, writhing in burning, tortuous pain, falling over onto his back, the whites of his eyes and the convulsions ebbing away little by little at the fury within Tom.

But the fury never seemed to disappear.

When would he ever be content?

Certainly not now, after he ruined any chance he had with the one girl he actually happened to like.

"Crucio!" The curse left him again and once more, the ruffling of his feathers unceasing.

When will they ever learn?

When will he? He thought he had his emotions under control, his infatuation.

Clearly not.

Tom would have expected her to say 'no', as she did, but something had made him ask. Perhaps it was a subconscious, innate need to self-sabotage, as his soul must have known he was falling too hard.

It was a heinous crime that he was even falling at all.

It was.

Because his feelings shouldn't exit.

Yet they persisted, they remained.

Curse after curse, jinx to another fell from his lips, hurdling them at each one of his 'friends'. They wailed, bitter at the realization of their master's lack of mercy; clutching their stomachs, stuttering and seizing, rolling around on the moss as the tears spilled from their eyes.

"You fools," his breathing was ragged, sweat lining his brow as he ceased the torture, for now. "I can hear your thoughts, see the visualizations of your deepest and most despicable desires. Come to know that all of you dare think to defy me?" Though he was eager to scream at the heathens, his tone was cool, always low and predatory. Tom Riddle hardly ever rose his voice, no matter the anger he felt. "It was unsurprising, I'll be honest, but if you think you can actually get your paws on her, you'll be sorely mistaken. If any one of you goes anywhere near my witch, you're fucking done for. I'll end you. You know very well, I can make anyone disappear, at my discretion."

Tom had not a clue how he went so drastically from vying for Anemone's surrender, her eventual obedience, to hardly even thinking of the girl as a number any longer. Sure, she could become his Seventh, but she was proving to be more, so much more than that.

He did not want anyone else.

It was her affections and hers alone he wanted, so badly that it actually physically hurt.

And she was right. Tom hardly knew much about her, save for the obvious.

How was he going to fix it now?

"We're so… so sorry," Iain Rosier coughed and sniffled, bile running down his chin. He had never felt the effects of the Cruciatas Curse before.

Callum Avery sat up, cradling his wounded skull, blood streaming into his eyes. "Please f-forgive us."

"I could be inclined to, if from now on you blasted arseholes gave me the damn respect I deserve. Forever more, you'll refer to me as 'the Dark Lord', and 'my Lord' and you know, even 'Master' too. That would be a start."

"Yes, o-okay, of course," wheezed Francis Mulciber.

Tom glowered down darkly over the bumbling barbarian, "What was that, Mulciber?"

"I-I mean, of course, my Lord."

"If any of you step out of line and go against my demands, you just better watch the fuck out."

"Yes, my Lord." Most of them spluttered in unison.

Tom hardly ever spoke with such vile language, such callous venom, but in this instance, it'd absolutely called for it. He had no sympathy for them, supposed devout followers or not.

What the hell did Anemone even want, at this rate, a bloody marriage proposal?

Tom had pulled out all the stops and it had been working to his favor, he'd almost had her, almost…

If it turns out that pigs can fly, I'll let you kiss me.

He fucking should have.

- : o : -

Anemone had just enjoyed an effortlessly productive Herbology class when the tall and lanky Gryffindor Chaser, Tyler Willoughby, sprinted up to her with ease.

"Hey Amy! Interesting class, right?"

"Oh yeah," Anemone agreed earnestly. She'd very much enjoyed the array of fun facts and trivia that had become the end of Herbology lessons. When Professor Beery was finished pop quizzing and giving them moments to prepare for testing, he allowed them free reign to socialize as they tended their plant plots. "I find it hard to believe we only have, what, something like four classes left until it's all over?"

"Hard to believe, indeed." Tyler nodded, something clearly at the back of his mind.

"Quite." Anemone side-eyed the handsome boy, and then she remembered the big quidditch game was coming up. She did know quite a bit about the leading players and what not, a result of being close with Dickon Weasley, but Anemone really did not care so much for athletics. "Hey, the big game is tomorrow. I'm sure Gryffindor will win, though Hufflepuff has been putting up a great fight. Are you scared?" She jested.

"Scared?" Tyler waved a hand in dismissal, blowing a childish tongue. "Pfft, not us. No way. We'll smoke 'em right out the pitch, we will."

"Oh, I believe it," Anemone acquiesced, wide-eyed and attempting to be as invested as possible. "I don't see Brandon Jenkins getting anywhere near that snitch before Hockley does."

"Acute observation, Fell,"

"Thank you," Anemone curtseyed theatrically. "I've been paying attention."

"You really have," Tyler gazed upon her with unbidden, gleaming adoration and she felt instantly uncomfortable. "You know, I would just love it if, after the game, maybe you and I could… well, as I'm sure you're aware, there's going to be this big party, in Gryffindor Tower, in the common room. Please come,"

Anemone could not help the anxiety-fueled cough that befell her, nor the clearing of her throat which she enacted to hide her uneasiness. "Well, I mean. You know I'll be there. I always go to these damn blowouts you chaotic lions throw. I won't miss it."

Tyler's entire demeanor lit up, stopping in his tracks before they reached the Great Hall. "Amazing," he breathed, a one-thousand watt smile. "Can't wait to see you there – after we win."

"I admire the confidence, Willoughby."

Anemone had only just caught on to the fact that the end of her school career at Hogwarts meant constant partying and sporadic intoxication.

How adult of them.

But was it? Was it really?

Yes.

But also no.

- : o : -

It was that same Friday, the late evening blanketing the castle in a soothing black. Tom was in the library seated at a table after hours. He was finishing up some final edits to his very last essay ever for Transfiguration. It had been a particularly harrowing assignment, and he hoped the dreaded Dumbledore appreciated all of the effort he put into his research. It had turned out to be a quality paper.

He strode to an aisle where one of the hefty tombs he'd been pouring over belonged, dispensing it respectfully in its place. Yet Tom heard soft snoring coming from upstairs. He hastily went back to his table and cleared his things, using his wand to levitate the rest of the borrowed books to their shelving.

Quietly as possible, Tom shifted up the winding staircase to the candlelit corner where, who else, but Anemone Fell was snoozing. She looked peaceful, tranquil – much unlike her demeanor whenever he was around.

He contemplated leaving her there, letting her rest. Tom did not want to be a bother to her anymore. He… he cared. He actually cared. If she were really happier without him…

His fists clenched at his sides. He was ready to turn around, to leave her behind, possibly for good but then, the witch stirred.

Tom stared at the floor, loosening his constricting tie. He suddenly felt so hot and suffocated as she woke up and rubbed her eyes, blinking in puzzlement at the shadowy figure lurking idly nearby.

"Tom?"

Tom Riddle hated his stupid muggle name but for some reason, he didn't mind it so much when Fell said it.

"You should be more careful," he drawled, his voice light yet the uneasiness within him was clear as day. His vibrations were low, so low. Inside him, a raging animal. "Being anywhere in the castle late at night, by yourself. You should know that. Your wand should be in your lap, ready to brandish at any given moment."

Anemone could not right away speak, gulping audibly and reaching for her wand in her bag. It was still there. It was fine. Tom was just freaking her out, for no reason. Nobody in the castle would ever do anything to her… would they?

The only one Anemone was concerned with was the smarmy snake standing before her.

"Hm. Thank you for the warning," she replied slowly. She began gathering her belongings, downing the rest of her now very cold tea.

"A cup of tea in the library, and its way past curfew?" Tom emulated theatrics. "Honestly, Fell, if you weren't a prefect, I'd deduct points straight away."

"Honestly, Riddle, where did you even come from?"

Why didn't he just shut up? He was here after hours too.

"I was finishing up assignments, just like you."

"And we're about to graduate. Losing house points doesn't even matter anymore,"

"You don't want to win the House Cup?" He smirked knowingly, shrugging. "Well, Ravenclaws not going to win, so I see why you wouldn't care. Slytherin and Gryffindor are neck to neck,"

"Yes, I'm well aware."

"Mm." Tom hummed, leaning against the sturdy shelves, crossing his arms. He tossed his head, trying to get his wavy locks out of his sight. His hair had gotten so long, and he hadn't felt it necessary in the least to lob it off. He liked being able to hide his eyes, from time to time.

Anemone sighed, standing up from the table and staring down Tom with an incomprehensible expression. For once, Tom couldn't read what was going on inside her mind.

She was putting up shields. Was she on to him now, after some of those things he said when they were doing rounds?

So, so careless, he was.

Maybe she didn't know she was doing it. There were moments she'd demonstrated a subtle knack for Occlumency, but it was likely she was not attuned with the techniques and didn't know what to look for.

"Did you just want to pretend like our… conversation last night never happened?"

"…no." He concluded.

"Well alright, are we going to ever talk about it, then?"

"No."

"I see." He was behaving like such a prat, like such a bloody boy! "I better be off then," she shouldered her bag, preparing to cross by him.

As she suspected he would, Tom swerved directly in front of her, hindering her from leaving. Anemone did not look up at him, as he towered over. "Don't leave."

Anemone seethed in her Mary jane heels, "Why ever not? What do you even actually want from me?"

"I don't know."

She could not stop the mewling sound of frustration, the girlish groan that spilt out of her.

Tom waved his hands around, unusually apologetic. "No, that's not right. It's not that I don't know, it's, it's just…"

Anemone tapped her heel impatiently. "It's just…?"

"It's just, I, I can't." He felt like a child, so vulnerable, his hand clutching tightly her arm. His darkness enveloped her, holding her hostage.

He was scaring her, yet he seemed frightened, frightened of himself. "Can't what? What is wrong with you?" Anemone grabbed his whitened knuckles, attempting to twist them away from her person. "Why can't you just – "

Tom's mouth was suddenly melding with hers, gentle but firm and demanding, a burst of tingling electricity to the tips of her toes. Anemone's bag dropped to the floor, instantly forgotten.

What can't I do? I can't stop myself from this strange, unfamiliar feeling. Its taking over.

He released her momentarily, breathless, and Anemone's gaze was narrowed up at him murderously. "I never said you could – "

His lips crushed over hers again, tossing her into the shelf where he followed, pressing his solid body so close, hips pinning her in place. He suckled her parted mouth, sliding his tongue within ever so gingerly, a low, guttural moan in his throat.

Tom's hands roved, squeezing her sides, encircling her waist as he pulled her around hungrily by the kiss, beastly. He touched her face, tangling fingers in her long, unruly mess of a mane.

Anemone allowed every bit of it to happen, curling a fist around his tie, clawing at the material of his crisp shirt as he made tempestuous love to her mouth. She had been dreaming of this. His kisses were even better than she imagined. His everything was just so perfect, igniting her soul, licking at every flame inside her, scratching the itch that'd been threatening to upend everything she stood for.

His fingers ran along the outside of her thigh, her skirt hiking way up. He gripped the fabric of her garter, pushing the stiff pillar stretched beneath his trousers hard against her. Anemone groaned bashfully, carnal, her legs unable to resist him as they fell open, her flooding center seeking his hot-blooded warmth.

Tom had unlatched his mouth from hers, his face nuzzling into the crook of her neck where he deeply inhaled. He laved his wet tongue onto her throat, biting and sucking a bruising trail below her ear. He was gripping the side of her thick arse and he shuddered, a broken whimper escaping him as he ground himself against her.

His kiss eventually found a place next to her eyes where her lashes fluttered bewilderedly, buzzing his pale skin. A thumb swiped tenderly across her swollen red lips, his own mere inches away. "I'm… sorry, Anemone. I'm sorry."

He really was this time, and she could tell.

However, before she could accept his apology – which she assumed was for blatantly asking her to be his exclusive, but temporary fling – Tom had unraveled his hands from her and stepped away.

"Wait, what? Where are you – "

"I'll see you tomorrow," he stopped her, his mind off to the races. "And don't forget my warning. Be careful."

If Tom was apparently so worried, Anemone wondered briefly, why did he not escort her back to her common room? However, as she endured the paranoia-fueled trek back to Ravenclaw Tower, she came to the realization that Tom must have been unable to control himself around her.

He wouldn't have been able to stop himself from going further, she suspected. Was that it?

She did not know whether to begrudge him for this, or to applaud.

If that were the truth, it would just be more reasons, piling up, for her to be completely and irrevocably enamored with the gorgeous and sly black fox.

- : o : -

Anemone, despite her better judgement, looked for Riddle all day that Saturday before and after the game. He did not come to any meals.

She did not know what he was up to, or if he was just really busy, but he would not show himself. It was very possible he was avoiding her after what had just transpired in the library. She wasn't even sure if she blamed him.

Almost in the blink of an eye, the game had been over. Gryffindor won, as was expected, and anyone who was anyone had shown up to the after party.

With the exception of the Head Boy, much to Anemone's dismay, though it was true he was never much seen at Gryffindor gatherings anyway.

She had to chop that up to his apparent prejudices, which was one topic they had never discussed, and one she was very afraid to challenge.

Anemone tucked away a cup of firewhiskey, grimacing from the harsh taste.

Tom had tasted good.

She couldn't get her mind off those kisses, so sensual and enticing; the salaciousness of his tongue, the ravenously administered wolflike bites along her neck, subtle bruises he left in the sweet aftermath.

Absentmindedly, her fingers touched where his mouth had been, where she could still feel him, just there beneath her ear. It was tender to the touch, but the pain somehow felt nice.

"You alright, love?" Tyler had appeared beside her.

"Mm?" She had been lost in her daydream, shaking herself of her wanton wishes. "Oh, y-yes. I'm superb." Anemone was typically pretty great at coming up with candor on the fly. "That was quite the victory."

"It was." The Irish thoroughbred agreed simply, casually staring around the room before his gaze returned to her, brazenly raking her slight form. It felt like a violation. "You look beautiful tonight, though you really always do."

Anemone was unsteady, blushing, though a lot of that had to do with the alcohol too. "Thank you, Willoughby. Uhm, yeah, you're very f-fetching yourself! But you know you're adorable!" She was only being polite, everyone knew how cute Tyler was. Anemone tried to thenceforth, deviate the conversation to anywhere but where it was going. Unfortunately, her tactics weren't up to snuff this night. "Anyway, uh… oh wow, this butterbeer looks yummy,"

She snatched up a small goblet of the smooth buttery beverage from a nearby table, gulping down more than was necessary. She was all jitters and nerves. Anemone did not like the way Willoughby was licking his lips, appearing to be considering something in his crystal blue eyes.

"You know, Jessie and Astrid are finally together," he told her and Anemone could not contain her grin, very happy for the two witches.

"It only took like, seven years," she snickered and he laughed.

"Oh, I know, right? We wouldn't be able to find 'em now, if we wanted to. Popped off somewhere private," Tyler gave her a knowing look.

"Did they really? Well, good for them."

Was she envious? Maybe a little bit.

The mischievous gleam in Tyler's gaze had her coming to the understanding that he very much hoped he could take her somewhere private.

Yet then he said something that made her throat fall into the floor.

"You're still a free agent, aren't you? The uh, Head Boy hasn't officially begged for your hand yet?"

Anemone made a strange, strangled sound that was halfway between a snort and a cough, a sneeze tickling her nose. She subconsciously twisted a shaft of her hair in front of the love-bites she worried might be seen. "Ahm, no. He… he has not."

Technically, Tom kind of did, but that was neither here nor there.

"But you want him to, don't you?" His voice was mocking, and she didn't think Tyler meant it to sound so cruel, but it had.

"I never said that!" Her tone rose slightly and she immediately regretted it. Several of their peers turned heads to see and hear better. She was blaming this on the drinks. Damned liquor.

Tyler's eyes widened, remorseful. "Gracious me. 'Wasn't trying to offend. My apologies, little lass."

"It's… it's fine."

Tyler might not have been the brightest when it came to women, but he was positive 'fine' didn't mean 'fine'.

"I didn't mean to overreact," Anemone added, offering up a semi-explanation. "It's a… a rather frustrating dilemma that has yet to work itself out, to say the very least." She sighed, finishing off the butterbeer, then said, "We're both… complicated individuals."

"Yeah, well, I still say he's a right git."

Anemone boiled at the statement despite the fact that Tyler's opinion was completely understandable. She knew half of the school idolized Tom and the other half despised him. What she did not know yet, was in which category she lie.

Tom used to repulse her, she thought she hated him only a week ago. Her head began to pound and a sudden rush of sleepiness saturated her soul. An organic need to rest this off outweighed the whim of further enduring this raucous party.

The common room was a roar of laughing, joking, clanking sloshing drinks together in toast as they chanted cheers and sung old pub tales. In retrospect it wasn't all that bad, but for Anemone, at that moment it was too much.

"Hey, do you want to sit down?" Tyler saw she was wobbly and holding her head. He snaked an arm around her. "You don't seem okay."

"I'm honestly not." She felt so hopeless. This only happened when she was drunk. She would feel nauseated, sorrowful, miserable. Anemone could never pinpoint exactly what would trigger it, always something different, but it was definitely the alcohol.

She didn't want to talk about Riddle. It hurt. Anemone was happy he wasn't here. She would only be an embarrassment to herself in front of him.

It was well over an hour later and Anemone was laughing again, mirthful and comfortable on one of the long sofas. She never meant to stay, but there she was with Tyler's arm around her. They watched in amusement as newly registered Animagus, Marshall Barrett, transformed into his adorable pygmy goat form.

It was the cutest thing Anemone had ever seen. He was mostly white with little black legs and a tiny black snout. He kicked and pranced around the floor, all of the girls, including herself, were fully overcome with giggling and cooing squeals of 'awe's and 'ooo's.

A completely obliterated Dickon braced himself behind the couch, waiting for the right moment. Then, as the goat danced by, Dickon sprung out screaming. The poor pygmy was petrified, hooves straight out as he toppled over from the fright.

Everyone laughed, Anemone picking up the little guy and cradling him in her lap.

"I think I'm jealous of Goat Marshall," Tyler pouted. Anemone felt lofty, stroking proudly the creature as if she were its new mum.

"Goat Marshall didn't deserve that."

"Baaa." Marshall bleated in agreement, and Anemone was all smirks. There was no way she wasn't getting a pet after graduation. It might do well to have a familiar around. Perhaps a cat, or even a Kneazle.

"Awwwe, wook at the wittle baby," Dickon twiddled with the goat's ear and the goat did not appear thrilled. Dickon did not desist his bothering, tickling and petting on him a bit too clumsily, feigning words of mocking endearment and Marshall wailed, hopping off Anemone to get away from him.

"Hey!" Anemone cried, unhappy the moment was over.

"Oi lighten up, buttercup!" Dickon said, "You look plenty cozy without the little beast!"

In his own drunken daze, Tyler's head had lolled, resting onto hers. His embrace tightened around her. This was not what she wanted.

She had never seen the other students this intoxicated before. Dickon was getting out of hand, Tyler was beyond himself. The Head Girl was straddling her new beau on an armchair, snogging unashamedly without a care in the world about any prior professionalism. A group of underage sixth years were unsupervised and upside down, filtering bottles of ale through a funnel into their open mouths, making a sopping wet mess. There were unnecessarily turbulent rounds of Gobstones, Exploding Snap, Snitch Snatcher, and Wizard's Chess.

Least of all, Goat Marshall had made the furniture his own special playground.

There was more going on, surely, but that was all Anemone could observe from where she was sitting.

This particular get together must have been record breaking. Anemone wondered why it was Dumbledore hadn't come to check in on things and potentially end the mayhem. It was still early yet, but then…

A glass broke from somewhere behind her and Anemone jumped, feeling rattled. There was something deafening in the air, her left ear ringing. It felt colder, the hairs prickling at the back of her neck.

An incoming darkness permeated the bright warmth that was Gryffindor Tower.

And there he was.

Tom Riddle, frosty and fed up, suddenly standing in the middle of the room.

His intense presence was felt by everyone.

"Party's over," he drawled, smug but exasperated. "Dumbledore's said." There was a collective petulance and the entire room 'booed' at him. His gaze swept across Anemone, irritated at the sight of the wizard she was with, the filthy mitts all over her.

Dumbledore never said shite, but Tom had just known things were going on up here, things that Tom wouldn't appreciate.

There was even a bloody goat galloping away to the boy's dormitory.

Not enough movement was happening for him, so then he snapped his fingers, patience waning. "Disperse yourselves. I said, now."

"As you wish, your Highness," returned Dickon, his tone derisive as he made a great show of bowing. "You heard the King, you lot. Everyone get back to your respected rooms."

"Your Majesty." Marion Asher curtseyed, having like most of them, found Dickon's jest hilarious. Everyone was hooting and hollering, and Tom's eyes flitted dangerously around at them all, his soul filling with ire.

"Long live the King!" One of the younger students quipped. They were all juvenile.

Thankfully, Gryffindor's common chambers were emptying, Willoughby's arm finally unwrapping itself from Fell. She stared sheepishly up at the Head Boy.

Dickon, Tyler and a few others shared snarky glances.

Tom bit his lip, contemplating his next words carefully. "Fell. You should let me walk you back to Ravenclaw Tower."

Though the offer made Anemone aflutter, she was inebriated and therefore her attitude wasn't going anywhere.

"I'm perfectly capable of getting back myself, thank you."

"Don't worry, King Riddle," Carol Clearwater came from left field, shoving her arm in hers as if they were old friends. "We'll walk back together, won't we, Anemone?"

Anemone inwardly cringed, smiling awkwardly as the witch who she wasn't certain still hated her spirited her away. If Tom were upset, he did not display an ounce of it.

Instead, he allowed them to go and Anemone found herself feeling legitimately grateful for Carol, even if the witch didn't plan on being nice to her on the way back to their dorms.

Despite the deeply felt desire for more of Tom's lips, hopefully in the foreseeable future, Anemone needed a short break from boys, at least for a day. Tyler had been after her all day and night, everyone was always pressuring and pushing her to date this person or that…

This Saturday would be the sort for sleeping in as long as she could, a large late lunch to cure the inevitable hangover, and resting on her lavish bed reading or studying.

She was not going to budge from Ravenclaw Tower, except for meals, and she weren't to let any wizard ruin her day.

None at all.

She was optimistic, but was it realistic?

- : o : -

AN: what will Tom's next big bold move be to win her over? He has a new plan. This time, he really has to make an even better impression. He might not have a lot of chances left, but Tom will take them all.