AN: I don't know how being a prefect works, I don't know anything. I just wanted to write Tom Riddle smut. I've never written him as a young man before, lol go easy on me please.
The Seventh
Chapter One: Challenge Accepted
- : o : -
The truth of it, was that Tom's eye had been on her for a while now.
They were vaguely familiar with each other. She was one of the Ravenclaw prefects, and as Head Boy, he worked with them each relatively closely when it called for it. She was not unreasonably far behind him in grades and it showed. They had most of their classes together – Charms, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, and she was in the Slug Club too. She was brilliant and clever and though dimwitted witches were easier to manipulate, Tom preferred the challenge.
Her name was Anemone Fell, but her closest friends and family called her Amy. She was a half-blood. Allegedly, her mother was an Irish witch and her father was a muggle from New Zealand. She had the longest, gingery blonde hair that cascaded beyond her hips in appealing soft waves. Her skin was naturally tan and golden and freckled, a smattering of adorable sprinkles dusting her bright face. The eyes were what reeled him in the most. They were a silvery grey with a soft sheen of brown across them, a striking hazel.
An enigma among the rest, she looked unsimilar to most of the witches that lined the halls at Hogwarts, nor even England as a whole. Something about her was almost… exotic or otherworldly, and he was not the only wizard who'd noticed, though she never paid them any mind. Even though she had a mostly sunny disposition and was well-mannered, when it came to courtship or dating around, the girl was known as an ice queen, a prude. Some had even speculated she swung in the other direction, but Tom begged to differ.
Thus far, he had slept with six separate witches, but it wasn't until a couple of days prior when an idea had coasted over him. He could not believe he didn't think of it before. If Tom were to potentially be able to acquire his seventh conquest before graduation… the perfection of it hit him in all the right spots, and it had to be her.
Out of his first six, he had only returned to a few of them for a second time. He had chosen to swear each of the witches to secrecy. Though they were all particularly upset that he hadn't wanted to make their trysts a regular thing, the girl's had been grateful enough the privilege to enjoy even a smidgeon of his time.
He had not cared that he'd hurt them, though he played the part well. They all adored him still, regardless of breaking their hearts, and none of them had run their mouths about him, which he preferred, though he found he wouldn't mind much if they had ended up bragging about how good he'd been. Tom simply didn't want them going on about how he hurt their feelings or used them for their bodies, which he had.
He was picky and shallow, and they'd all been appealing enough but none of them were like Anemone Fell. No one there had conquered the brusque and flighty Ravenclaw, and that only made Tom all the more intrigued; no one had yet gotten underneath that skirt, not at school, but he would.
He had not before appreciated Fell the way he probably should have. Ever since she had come into her own as a young woman within the last two years, the boys had started to notice just how gorgeous she really was, including Tom, though his attention for her had come a little late.
Tom had been unfathomably busy with his many other priorities, and those rare moments when he could mingle with the opposite sex were taken up by the other witches he'd come across first; those other witches that now seemed incomparable to the visions of Fell he had imbued in his mind.
Plus, she hadn't worn a prefect badge until this year, though she had been in the Slug Club since fifth. Despite there being what was probably a decent amount of opportunities missed between them, it somehow only felt right happening now anyway.
Currently Tom sat casually in the prefect's lounge, waiting for his underlings to return from their rounds so that he could sign them out and go back to his chambers. He was unusually sleepy this evening and he found his fingers tapping idly, impatiently against the desk beside the open tome he'd been poring over to distract himself.
Tom had been in the Restricted Section last night again until the early hours of the morning. He had not bathed, unlike his usually kempt, clean and tidy self. His uniform was loosened, untucked and lazily put together. His long, ebony black hair was sticking up in different directions, his uncaring eyes framed by purplish crescent moons.
In reality, he could not have given a shit less about his Head Boy duties, mostly tedious and unimportant, the repetitive tasks. However, the power and recognition combined with all the luxury and privilege that came with it had become everything to him. The fact he hadn't been granted these niceties his entire school career had been a crime.
Fell was going to be the last one to return, along with the other prefect for Ravenclaw, Daniel Stone. They were sent to scout the Astronomy Wing and were taking their sweet time. He shuddered to think what sort of mediocre charms Stone would probably try to exude as they scoured the tower, well-known to have an infatuation for Fell. He was an annoyance for certain and would be dealt with if Tom felt it necessary.
For now Stone was deemed to be harmless when it came to Tom's plans, a low level threat.
Minutes later, the Ravenclaws entered the room and Tom didn't even blink, retaining his infamous cool and calm composure. He peered up from his book, not closing it yet. He had to be the last one to leave the room.
As they approached him, Tom's expression turned to one that demanded their acknowledgement, one that said, 'Well?' without him having to utter it.
"Everything's in order," said Anemone politely, but her eyes were wide as if she'd seen a ghost and when Tom's stare persisted in his penetration of hers, she seemed to notice and relaxed her features. "There were a couple of fifth years huddled up studying by a telescope, but they had a valid note from Professor Fancourt with her explicit permission to be there until one o'clock."
"Hmm." Was Tom's low purr of a response, his gaze heavy as he bore into the depths of her eyes. All at once, while he learned she was telling the truth, he also attempted, with the sensuousness of his gaze, to implant the notion of his desirability, not that it took a genius to see how good looking he was. He needed her to be thinking about him.
A faint blush saturated her cheeks and she discreetly looked away, going to gather her things. Pride filled Tom, but he hadn't caught all of the story. The way Anemone appeared as she entered, she looked somewhat paled, frightened maybe.
Tom's eyes found his next target and Daniel Stone made the mistake of unveiling his secrets.
…can't believe she said no.
I thought we were finally getting somewhere.
A smirk threatened to crack Tom's scowl, his dark stare glittering deviously. Stone signed himself out properly – Tom etching his initials beside the signature – and left. Stone's temperament had been sheepish and angsty, an obvious tuck of the tail between his legs.
The wizard hated Tom out of jealousy already. If and when he ever found out Tom had gotten to the witch he was obsessed with, well… the potential pain it would inflict upon Stone pleased Tom greatly.
Before Anemone could go, there was a clearing of Tom's throat, his silky voice reaching her ears. "Don't forget to sign out, Fell."
"Oh, heh," Anemone teetered back toward his desk. As she loomed above the table, a lock of her gingery gold hair fell down over her shoulder, grazing the table. Tom was momentarily entranced by it, leaning back in his chair, his fingers folding together across his stomach while he pondered what it would be like to coil those long locks around his fist, his forearm as he perused her body from behind. "You have a good night, Riddle."
"And you, Miss Fell?" he returned slowly and she gazed back again. "Are you going to have a good night?" Tom enjoyed addressing his fellow peers as if they were his subordinates, which they were, after all. Calling them a Miss or Mister fed to him even more that heightened sense of authority.
Anemone blanched in the doorway as he appraised her figure, his eyes surreptitiously studying the womanly curves, the thick thighs he could tell were hidden beneath her skirt. Her stare lingered on his pink tongue darting out to lick his lips. She was blushing again, ever more under his intense scrutiny. Yes, she knew that he was liking what he saw, and there really weren't many who could resist his appeal. Perhaps it might be easier to seduce this so called 'ice queen' than he initially concluded.
"I – well, yes. I suppose so." Anemone Fell had been wondering why Tom Riddle had cared enough to ask, but then it had been slowly dawning on her, especially this evening, that the Head Boy might have his sights on her. She had caught him looking at her a lot recently, with those sharp eagle eyes of his. For what reason, well, she hadn't wanted to assume, but now it was becoming clearer.
He had been blatantly checking her out, hadn't he? She was not that naïve. Anemone knew the looks, could feel the tension thick and crackling in the atmosphere like thunder and lightning. It terrified her, but excited her still. He had never paid her much mind before. Why the sudden interest?
Tom just kept staring, smirking like a fox with a great secret he would never tell and Anemone felt the grace to turn away from him to leave. Yet then the curiosity got the better of her and she peered back again, meeting again those dark eyes. She almost laughed from her uneasiness, her expression blossoming with more and more puzzlement. What was his problem?
"Is… I'm sorry but is there something wrong?" Anemone asked him, cautious. She wasn't one to beat around the bush and if he wanted something, he was better off just asking away. Games she did not like to play, and she just had a feeling that Riddle was the biggest player of them all.
"Is there something wrong?" repeated Riddle, coy as ever. He made a point to cast his catlike eyes over her again, up and down, those flawless smirking lips. "Not with anything I'm looking at."
Anemone's glistening stare widened slightly and there was a subtle chew of her bottom lip. Her weight shifted as she struggled with the right response, her face feeling red hot and her stomach twisting. Her instinct had been correct. Tom was interested. She chose instead not to say anything and simply gave him a slight nod before escaping from his storm.
There was the iciness, the too timid unsureness that the spurned wizards of the school talked about. Tom knew that any other witch would be falling all over herself if he'd sent that statement their way, if he had gazed upon them in the salacious manner he had just demonstrated.
Tom grinned inwardly to himself, packing up his belongings. Challenge accepted indeed.
- : o : -
It was not as if she didn't find him attractive. He looked like a dark, rogue angel, but had the fierce eyes of a devil, a striking serpent. His jaw was razor-sharp and tapered keenly to a handsome, jutting chin peppered with slight stubble. He was tall, so tall, and very thin but definitely toned despite the fact he did not play quidditch. His hair was jet black, thick and full. It looked so soft that it was unfair.
Yes, begrudgingly, the alluring Tom Riddle was just her type, and apparently a lot of people's type. He was the most desired and eligible wizard at school, but she'd hardly given him consideration before. Anemone was convinced he was just simply out of her league, not that she minded. She wasn't interested in a romantic partner, or a one-off or anything in between.
Riddle was braggadocios, confident and suspiciously perfect in every way – if you could tolerate his smug ego that is, or the way he condescendingly spoke to others with that stoic indifference; his elitest friends who sometimes seemed more like servants. There was something about him that made her want to hate him, something about him that innately scared her, yet now there was an undeniable swelling desire to find out what that heart-shaped scowl felt like in a kiss.
Anemone hadn't wanted that for herself. She had been hurt before and had to burn bridges. Really, she was unwilling to put herself through anything like it again. While summering in New Zealand at thirteen, she had fallen for an older boy – the stupidest mistake on her part – and had allowed him to take her maidenhood.
The vile thought of it still caused her fists to flex, nails digging into the flesh of her palms, drawing blood so that she could feel anything but the shame and guilt; the shattering of her heart afterwards at the realization of her unrequited feelings, knowing that she had been taken advantage of. Anemone had pledged to herself that she would never make the same mistake and would wait until she truly found the right person, perhaps even remaining abstinent until marriage.
She hadn't bet on Tom Riddle though, not at all.
So she would ignore him, to the best of her abilities but damnit, was he difficult to evade. He was always everywhere.
They had run into each other in the doorway of the prefect's bathroom. She collided into his hard body, his hands grasping her up so she did not fall; firm hands gripping her arm, curled snugly around her waist where his long fingers stretched out over her lower back, tangling in her hair, clutching the material of her jumper.
A little smirk danced across Tom's lips from above. "Seems I've caught a treasure in my web. Are you alright?" he gently drawled, cool and low, the softness of his voice cascading over her ears like falling rain. He smelled good, too good, so crisp and clean, like lemon and sandalwood. She could melt into him. Everything about Tom Riddle was intoxicating.
The temperature of Anemone's body had risen to great heights, her face stained with embarrassment. "I – yes, I…" she stuttered and stirred, attempting to unravel from his tight embrace and Tom reluctantly released her. "I'm alright, th-thank you." He had been surprisingly warm, so warm and she felt the immense weight of his absence. Anger oozing within her, and extreme arousal which only led to more anger. "What in Merlin's name did you leave the door unlocked for, Riddle?"
Tom appeared shocked. "It was? Oh, my mistake."
Was that supposed to be his version of an apology? What if she had walked in on him? "Mm, right."
He ran a hair through his dark and messy, wet mane, "Pity," he said. "If you had walked in any sooner, you might've seen me in all my glory."
Anemone could have gagged. Riddle really thought he was god's greatest gift – more like god's greatest git.
"Oh, yes, what a pity," she fumed haughtily. She'd had a pretty rubbish day and wanted nothing more than to get nice and clean herself, but Tom was not moving out of the doorway even as she tried to get by.
He was snickering. "Isn't it though?"
Anemone paused, her brows furrowing, lips quirking into a small smile. He really was something else. "Not really."
"Mm." Tom hummed, leaning against the wall and Anemone took this as her one opportunity to slide by him. Just as she went to cross the threshold his long arm extended to the other side of the door frame. "Indulge me, Miss Fell. Does that mean if you'd missed your chance to walk in on, I don't know, say, Diana Coulson… would it have been a pity then?"
Anemone couldn't have rolled her eyes any harder. "More of a pity than missing out on you, Riddle."
Tom's eyes sparkled dangerously, digging into her own. "Ah, so you do play for the other team."
"Well, I – I didn't say that." If it was possible Anemone's face flushed even worse. If she were being completely honest, she liked both witches and wizards, but probably preferred wizards overall.
"Interesting."
"Am I finished indulging you?"
"For now, Fell," he returned, finally removing his arm so that she were no longer held back by him.
Anemone decided she did not want to know what that meant, and when he got out of the way she quickly closed the door and cast a locking charm over it so many times she'd gone blue in the face.
Something was telling her that may not have been such an accidental happenstance after all, but who would go those lengths to orchestrate such an uncomfortable and ridiculous event?
Probably Tom Riddle.
It felt like he was in every single one of her classes, but that wasn't true. He wasn't in Herbology, or her Transfiguration class… but that was about it. He would slyly watch her whenever he had a spare moment, and Anemone would seethe in enticing agony.
Thoughts of him would torment her all night as she tossed and turned before finally falling asleep. Then only to feel him in her dreams; hazy visions of a pouty mouth twisting into a smirk, dark, dazzling eyes, her hands combing through that feathery soft hair. When she would wake, he remained, there at the forefront of her mind, the place between her thighs aching with overflowing titillation.
When she was in the library, frazzled and fumbling over a final essay for Transfiguration, Tom sat at a nearby table. He would stare at her from afar as he studied his own work, catching her eyes but he did not engage her.
The next day, he was tailing not far behind her on the way to Arithmancy.
"Are you following me?" she half-jested, though her gaze was filled with paranoia.
His dark brow arched in amusement. "Are we not both headed for class?"
"Right."
Tom caught up to her, syncing into step. "Are you sure you're feeling okay, Fell?" He cooed coquettishly. "You seem a bit… unfocused lately. I wonder what's got you so wound up."
Anemone wanted to pulverize him, making an idle fist by her swaying hips. He really knew exactly what he was doing to her, and she loathed him ever more for it.
"Mm. Well, go ahead and keep wondering."
Tom sniggered, shaking his head mirthfully. He rather enjoyed the verbal sparring between them, but her walls would not be easy to break down. "Wonder I will." He flew past her on his long legs and into the classroom, practically leaving her in the dust.
Anemone gritted her teeth as she readied herself for another hour of his tortuous eyes.
- : o : -
His plan was working, so far. He'd planted the irreversible seed and before no time, it would bear him the fruit he so wanted. He made sure to invade her with images of him, sensations of them entwined in each other's arms, kissing her, needing her.
It was clear what he was doing to her had been causing the effect he intended.
Anemone Fell would be his Seventh. Anemone Fell would be his.
- : o : -
AN: I'm writing this from horny jail. There is going to be a Slug Club party at some point, I think. More soon 3
