Author's note: Hello fellow readers, I hope you are doing fine, that your week went well and that you are healthy in all sense of the term. Thank you for all of you who are following this story and for the others, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy it :) Here is a new chapter, happy reading!
Ps: I realised I mistook Nott and Rosier's first name, I am so sorry! I changed everything now again.
August 1939: Heat
Tom Riddle was sitting on a bench in the shadow, inside the orphanage's courtyard. His legs were crossed at the ankles, his soles warm from the heat released by the asphalt. They rarely experienced such summers in London and all the children had barricaded themselves inside the building in the hope to find some cool air. The boy was pleased to be left alone, reading to his heart's content. Even Mrs Cole did not dare to venture outside and spared him her suspicious glares, locked up inside her office where she kept the shutters tightly closed.
He was buried in a book, A Practical Guide to Legilimency, volume two. He was glad he was finally able to put a name on what he now knew he was capable of. He was always certain he was meant to do great things and his first try, accidental yet successful, had only confirmed his uniqueness.
He paused for a second, contemplating with a thrill the countless opportunities that could arise, that he could seize. He fancied a status, a career, money perhaps, anything that could prove that he deserved better than this rathole. He imagined himself Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts or better… Headmaster. Even Minister of Magic, after all why not, who could stop him?
Knowledge was power and he was good at learning.
The piercing ring of the bell painfully brought him back to reality, to the orphanage, London and the heat. Tom slipped his feet inside his leather shoes and dragged himself to the canteen where dozens of children were waiting. He joined the line, hiding his book under his shirt. The authorisation to borrow magical works from Hogwarts' library, he owed to Slughorn. He did not know the details of the discussion that took place between the Potion Master and Mrs Runereader – the librarian – but he could easily imagine how the head of Slytherin had insisted on his humble origin to win her over. Tom's cheeks had burned in shame when Slughorn had told him, in a pitying tone, that he was exceptionally allowed to borrow a few books during summer to "hopefully find comfort in literature" while he would be kept away from the school.
Tom walked straight to the table on his left and pulled the closest chair to the entrance, where the older children usually sat. He was eager to practice. Lunch and dinner time were excellent occasions to try out peering into other people's mind. He had noticed teenagers were unexpectedly easier to read than the youngsters, as if those oafs were so self-engrossed that their thoughts seemed to stroll about untamed. That is how Tom learned that George was having a crush on Mary, who herself was pretty fond of Henry, who himself didn't seem to fancy anyone but was very anxious about having to enrol in the army once he'd turn eighteen.
While the other kids took their place around the table, the dinner lady – who was as wrinkled as a prune – placed a dish of vegetable stew on top of the waxed cotton tablecloth. The girl sitting next to Tom began to complain about the meal, unfitting for such weather, and met with the immediate castigation of the old woman.
"I am sorry that this meal does not suit your Highness. Why don't ya go knock on Buckingham Palace's door and ask if they don't have some lobster fo' ya?"
The reprimand was quickly followed by a nasty comment of the headmistress, who added that the girl should be a better Christian and show gratefulness for all the meals that were shared with her. The dark-haired boy reached for the ladle and poured himself some of the fuming mixture, paying little attention to the quarrel. He somehow accommodated himself with the bland meals and the material shortage of the orphanage, now that he knew that a better future awaited him. Hogwarts had become for Tom a true glimmer of hope for the time to come.
He began to eat, his eyes fixated on his plate, focusing on his neighbour instead. He felt a slight pressure on both his temples, usually a sign that he would soon be able to pass through the first layer of consciousness. He closed his eyes for a second, concentrating with all his might on the girl sitting next to him. He visualised her slender body, how she was hunched over her bowl. His head was spinning as he felt his own mind reaching hers, breaking in. He knew he was almost there. He thought about her face, the redness of her hair. It was intimate, somehow, a true exercise of conquer as he felt how he was imposing himself. He was close, he could feel it, soon enough she would give in. Suddenly, such as a lock that gave way, the girl's thoughts finally flowed to him.
"Buckingham Palace… Does she find herself funny that old shrew? Wait until I leave that shit hole… He had promised it to me after all. If only that bloody Cole hadn't caught us… I could be with him right now"
Images of a stocky and moustached young lad that Tom recognised as the milkman, suddenly appeared inside the boy's brain. He tried to break the connection, as the memories of the young man's lips on hers formed in his mind, and Tom managed to extricate himself out of her mind right in time.
By Merlin, that was a close call…
He exhaled in relief, and shot the girl a disgusted look. He should probably change target finally, teenagers were way too unpredictable.
—
Saying it was hot was an understatement. The day was sizzling hot and London had become a furnace over the course of the week. Even the spells that aimed at keeping Diagon Alley moist were not enough to keep the heat at bay.
A brown-haired girl fanned herself with her free hand, the other firmly clasped inside the palm of the elegant woman that stood next to her. The girl turned her big grey eyes to a group of kids that walked up the street, grasping snippets of their conversation. How much would she give to join them and leave her mother tend to her nattering… Twenty minutes that she was now standing on the boiling hot pavement, only to satisfy her mother's social needs. Couldn't they at least catch up around a deliciously cold ice-cream? The girl sighed, for she knew her mother was talkative and such chit-chat could last for hours.
She readjusted her crepe dress, trying not to pay attention to the unpleasant feeling of her armpits already socked in sweat. As she did so, she felt the piece of fabric that compressed her chest move upwards. Bloody hell did she hate that brassiere. The girl recalled how her mother had enforced it on her, now that her chest had started to "grow". The use of quotation marks here is of importance, for her breasts truly looked like nothing but tiny mosquito bites. Yet, her mother made it a point of honour to make sure her daughter was concealing them. It wasn't proper for a girl her pedigree to walk around with nipples pointing through her clothes. Anna remembered with a bitter taste how she had been forced to wear that stupid bra the same day her friend Alastair came over, and how he, on the other hand, had been allowed to stroll shirtless in her garden…
The girl looked around, curiously glancing at the shops she was surrounded by. Her feet started to ache and she was eager to move. She pulled on her mother's hand but the woman ignored her, pursuing her conversation with her friend.
Anna tried once more.
At the third attempt, her mother turned around and shot her a disapproving glance.
"Annabel, can't you see that I am busy? Do not interrupt me again"
Her tone was sharp and irrevocable. Anna lowered her gaze but was well decided to insist. After all, she inherited her obstinacy from her mother.
"Mama, why wouldn't the two of you catch up around a nice cup of tea while I'd go to Flourish and Blotts and get the books for Hogwarts? I'd be back in no time"
Anna watched her mother giving her a stern look before she shot her friend an apologetic glance. The girl knew she won the fight when the lady gave her a compassionate smile, and suggested to her mom that they'd try that new place, next to the Daily Prophet. Zeena Shafiq sighed and reached for the inside of her purse.
"Get yourself an ice-cream as well"
Anna beamed and pocketed the dozen Galleons her mother handed her before she dashed off.
She stopped in front of the Quality Quidditch Supplies shop, where crowds of kids were gathered to take a look at the newest broomstick. She caught sight of her own reflection in the window, her grey eyes gleaming in the shadow her straw hat casted on her face.
Anna pushed the green door opened and the woody smell of books immediately seized her. The shop was empty, probably because of the weather and she leisurely strolled inside the alleys, her eyes scanning the titles, her fingers caressing the leather book covers. After wandering inside the teenage section of the store for a while, she found a wooden arrow that pointed to the first floor and showed "Textbooks". She quickly climbed the flight of stairs and reached for the supplies' list inside her pocket.
Carefully adding one work on top of the other, she walked out after she found everything she needed.
The store keeper kindly opened the door with a wave of his wand, for the girl was loaded down and could barely see where she ought to go. She managed to exit the shop, her eyes lowered to carefully watch where to step on the paved street.
Her body bumped into something, or rather, someone. The New History of Magic - 2nd Year fell down, quickly followed by her hat, and the girl staggered on her feet. She met three pairs of eyes staring at her as she glanced up, for the disappearance of the book was suddenly granting her more visibility.
"Anna, what a coincidence!"
The blond boy, that Anna immediately recognised as her friend, reached for the books she was carrying.
"Alastair! Long time no see…" she joked.
She looked at the red-haired boy on her left, identifying Cillian Lestrange and greeted him with a shake of the head. She was about to bend over to reach for her hat and fallen book, but the latter was already handing them back to her. She thanked him with a smile and turned to the third boy. She glanced at his very dark hair, the haughty way he was lifting his chin. She met his gaze but averted her eyes, suddenly intimidated by the coldness that emanated from his stately demeanour.
—
Annabel was sitting on the edge of the balcony, her feet dangling. She spread her toes and rocked her legs, boldly letting go of the balustrade to change hand of the ice-cream cone she was holding. She looked down at the Londoners passing by, but nobody seemed to catch sight of the girl that dangerously balanced herself above the busy street.
"The pumpkin flavour isn't bad…" she commented before sticking out the tip of her tongue, licking the frozen dessert. "A bit too sweet for my taste though"
She turned around, cautiously passing one leg after the other over the Art Nouveau styled railing.
"Should we get back inside? It's burning here"
She looked at each of the boys and Alastair nodded, leading them back to the living-room where the air was slightly cooler. The girl heavily sat on one of the sofas, her head lazily falling on her right shoulder as she rested her back against the soft pillows. She shut her eyes and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, clumsily pushing away the few strands of her chestnut brown hair that had stuck to her damp skin. The heat exhausted her.
She looked at the glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling, thinking about how she had ended up there. After she had accidentally bumped into Alastair and his friends, the blond boy had insisted on taking her back to the cafe where her mother was waiting. Zeena, as always, had been delighted to see him, for she loved Alastair. They had chatted for a bit, the blond boy politely introducing his friends. Before her mother could even notice, Alastair was already trying to persuade her to let her daughter join them for the rest of the day. He promised to bring her back in due time, to which Anna wanted to reply that she didn't need a chaperone. Yet she kept quiet, because the perspective of spending time with kids her age was a thousand time more tantalising than staying with her mother and discuss the Ministry – or the Parents Teacher Association – two things her mother seemed very knowledgeable about.
An hour later, Anna was lounging in the Rosiers' sofa, an ice-cream in hand, three Slytherin boys sitting next to her.
"Do you do that often?"
Lestrange raised an eyebrow and Alastair glanced at her quizzically.
"Spend time with one another on weekends" she clarified.
"Sort of" the blond boy shrugged. "It's nice... you should tag along"
She saw him glancing hesitantly at the dark-haired boy sitting on a velvet armchair across the coffee table.
"What do you usually do?"
Lestrange snorted: "Prank the Muggle kids"
His response did not come as a shock to her, for she knew the Slytherins' despise for Muggles was genuine. Yet, she was not fond of playing tricks on others. Not that she was particularly sanctimonious, but Anna had no time nor interest to dedicate herself to such banal activity. She sighed.
"Ugh that sounds dull. Is that all that you do all day?"
Alastair scratched his head, as if embarrassed. He opened his mouth, apparently about to say something but to everyone's surprise, the dark-haired boy cut him off.
"They are trying to keep me entertained"
Anna had almost forgotten about the presence of her former potion partner, for he was being so quiet.
He had spoke without disdain, as if simply stating a truth. Yet his words, in that order, sounded contemptuous.
The girl snorted and lifted her upper body, setting her feet on the chevron floor. She crossed her legs, placed her elbow on her thigh and her chin in her hand. With a sneering smile, she looked at the boy who just spoke, narrowing her eyes.
"Really, Riddle? Why do you need to be… entertained?"
She raised a provoking eyebrow. He held her gaze and she had the unpleasant feeling that he was challenging her.
"Alastair and Cillian are so kind as to keep me company in London every time I am allowed to leave the place I am currently living at"
"You mean your parents' home?"
"Anna!" interjected the blond boy while he shot the girl a disapproving glance.
"It's all right Alastair…" Riddle said in a velvety tone, a mellow smile on his lips. "There is no reason why I should hide the truth, is there?"
"No Tom… Of course not"
The blond boy lowered his eyes.
Annabel frowned, unsure of what little scheme was unfolding under her very eyes. She knew Alastair was nice. He was sensitive, delicate. Yet, he was not weak, and especially not a coward. Such a change of attitude left her speechless.
There had been rumours, about Tom Riddle. Due to his sorting in Slytherin, gossips had it that he must be pure-blood, or at least, stem from an old and respectful lineage. The students had noticed that he remained in Hogwarts for each vacations, though most of the other children went home to enjoy the warmth and care a loving family should offer. The girls in her dorm - Elena, particularly - were certain his parents worked abroad, deployed by the Ministry of Magic. They were probably diplomats "or spies Anna can you imagine?!", which would explain why he was so literate, and also why he stayed in the castle even over Christmas. Yet, Anna had her doubts, for such elitist background did not match the second-hand books he owned nor the worn clothes he wore...
The dark-haired boy pursued.
"Did you know, Annabel, that some of us do not have the privilege of having a place you can call home?"
She did not like him using her first name, that he had pronounced with an inflexion that reflected scorn or pity. She more particularly did not like when people made assumptions about her life… She opened her mouth, ready to hurl a sharp remark at that boy but was interrupted by Alastair who quickly stood up, as if he sensed that the atmosphere was turning sour.
"How about we play a game, uh? A round of Black Widow, anyone?"
The brown-haired girl and the dark-haired boy kept glaring at one another, until Riddle finally turned his glance to Rosier and nodded.
Anna sighed.
"Sure, but just one game. I believe my parents are expecting me any time soon"
Alastair called for the house-elf, asking it to bring playing cards. Anna took a bite of her ice-cream cone, deliberately keeping her chin high, for in her head, the fight wasn't over. The creature came back with the deck and a flying tray of iced-tea and the four of them watched the cards shuffle themselves, before they neatly separated into four distinct piles.
Anna reached for the cards in front of her.
They resembled much of a usual Muggle French deck, to the exception that there was no king, queen and boy but a wizard, a witch and a pupil and that the usual hearts, clubs, diamonds and spades were replaced by phoenixes, snakes, owls and spiders.
"All right" started Alastair. "Let me clarify the rules, to prevent any further argument… Each phoenix is one point, the black widow: thirteen. We'll do four rounds. The one who has the least points at the end of the game wins"
Anna looked at her hand. She had a fantastic advantage: almost no phoenixes, many trump cards. With a sneaky smile, she selected three, including the two of snakes, which would traditionally start the game. She held the cards in the air, face down and they flew over to the red-haired boy sitting next to her.
From Alastair on her right, the girl received not only the ace of owls, but also the king of spiders and the black widow. She humphed, outraged and the boy bit his lip, poorly concealing a giggle, mouthing an apologetic and insincere "good luck".
She looked at Lestrange, waiting for him to start. The red-haired boy throw the two of snakes on the table, Tom Riddle the ace, Alastair the wizard. Annabel, who had managed to get rid of all of the green colour, threw the king of spiders. The cards flew and lied face down on the table near the dark-haired boy.
Annabel glanced at her hand, her blood pulsating at her temples. Her head was throbbing, probably because of the heat and she reached for an iced-tea where condensation had already formed on the glass.
Assuming she was dehydrated, she gulped almost half of the sweet lemon-flavoured drink, watching Riddle throw a pupil, a ten and then again a nine of spiders at the beginning of each round. He was clearly leading the game and she wondered whether it was not her headache came from her exasperation. When Riddle threw a six, she was running short on spiders, and before she could say Quidditch, she had to discard her black widow, taking the trick and its thirteen points with it.
She composed herself, determined not to show her rising stress level.
Alastair scribbled the points on a piece of paper and the cards reshuffled themselves. Pull yourself together, she thought for herself, and she opted for another strategy as she looked at her new hand. She granted three phoenixes to Alastair, exchanging her cards to the right this time.
She started the game with a two of snakes, and after someone finally ruffed, she managed to make Riddle take the trick with two points, and a black widow into the bargain.
She grinned.
This was war.
She would crush him.
Three rounds later, her smile had turned into a sulk, for Riddle had fought back, hard, and he had done anything in his power to annihilate her, slowly, painfully, watching her growl in despair as cards kept growing in the pile next to her.
Alastair counted the points at the end of the game, first announcing the winner – Riddle – and the loser – her.
She swallowed her pride as she stood up without a word, scanning the room in the search of her hat.
"Well, thank you for having me Alastair" she smiled under gritted teeth. "Next time you plan a little card game with cheaters, please don't invite me"
She shot the dark-haired boy a hateful glance and exited the room, her headache suddenly gone.