Author's note: Hello everybody, here is a new chapter! I am sorry about the small mistakes this chapter might entail, it probably lacks editing but I wanted to post it tonight. Next update in two weeks. I also kept it brief with the animal abuse, but still some unhappy memories about Billy Stubbs' rabbit... Actually, when I read the books back in the days, I always assumed the rabbit was only a stuffed toy. Am I the only one who did not get JK Rowling was actually referring to a real pet? It is both Easter's holidays and Ramadan's month where I live, so Ramadan Mubarak and Happy Easter everyone! - Enjoy -
July 1942 - For a Better Tomorrow
Leonus Nott had gotten the bunnies.
He only found babies, but Tom assured him it would do. After all, he was not even sure the animal in itself had any impact on the success of the spell and so on that warm summer afternoon, Nott had entered the living room with a large metal cage. He placed it on the Tuscan style coffee table of the Lestrange's manor, and the room suddenly filled with the sounds of the soft little creatures that milled about in the pen. They were playful and joyous, unaware of the dire fate that awaited them.
The sound of the rodents reminded Tom of the noises of Billy Stubbs' rabbit. Crouching down before the animals, he was looking at the bunnies digging in the hay that covered the bottom of the cage. He slid one finger between the bars, feeling the soft fur of one speckled baby that stood near the wall. The creature turned around and brought its wiggling nose close to the boy's digit.
Tom recalled with clarity the contentment he had felt when that moronic child from Wool's orphanage had yelled in stupor at the sight of his dangling pet. It was hanging from the rafters inside the canteen and the boy's face had turned livid before his mouth had let out a blood-curling scream. However, if he would have to do it again, Tom would definitely use the death curse, for he had found the way the creature was convulsing at the end of the rope rather obscene. Of course, he could have found a different technique. Drowning or smashing it against a wall were options he had considered. Yet, the latter would have definitely included an unnecessary amount of blood, and the lack of a water source nearby made drowning impractical. Besides, Tom appreciated the symbolic of the rope, which he found opportune. It had reminded the orphan that he could as well be the next one swaying into the air, if the idea of standing in Tom's way again ever crossed his dumb mind.
"Should we give them water?" asked Alastair Rosier who entered the living room and glanced at the cage. Nott sniggered, asserting that pampering them made no sense for they would not live long enough to die of dehydration. From the corner of his eyes, Tom saw the blond boy disappear behind the French doors and come back with a bowl of water anyway.
"Thank you Alastair" acknowledged Tom before Nott could drop another sardonic comment.
A jabbering of conversations rose from the corridor and a handful of people entered the living-room preceded by Cillian Lestrange. They reached the centre and dropped a curtsy before Tom who stood up, dominating the newcomers from his height. The boy with jet black hair glanced at each and every one of them.
"Knights of Walpurgis" began Tom with a smile and a perfectly measured voice. "Thank you, for joining me so promptly. I know this gathering comes as inopportune to some of you who were expected elsewhere and I can only feel pride and gratitude at your unconditional support. Within the past few years, I have found, beside you, not only new alliances but also new friendships"
He paused, looking around him. He was pleased to find them hanging on his every word. He was perfectly calm. He hadn't prepared his speech, for he already knew what to say. He didn't owe his charisma to any trick or rehearsal, he simply radiated confidence because he knew he was right and he believed in what he said.
"My friends. We are all driven by different things. Wealth, power, prestige but also, a sense of belonging. I would be lying if I claimed my motivations were different from yours… Just like you, I dream to make this world a better place, to show everyone what we can do, how far we can go. Just like you, I want to push the limits of magic, fight against the injustices our peers face, stand against those who do not deserve our powers"
Tom felt his heart beat faster at the sight of the people gathered around him and his eyes grazed at the many faces which showed curiosity, impatience and thirst. He knew them eager to begin, for he had promised them this day would come, on the night after he had met that girl and she had revealed her secrets. He had called for a little reunion, in the privacy of the Slytherins' common room, and he had revealed that he now knew how to cast one of the Unforgivable Curses, the most powerful of all, the killing spell. A thrill had run through the group after such announcement, and he had promised to teach them soon enough. "We should give ourselves a name" had whispered Avery with excitement and all heads had frenetically nodded in agreement. "Today is exactly one week after the night of Walpurgis" had pointed Rosier, who was knowledgeable about European folklore and a few puns later, they had a name, and a well-structured plan.
Tom's eyes settled on the only girl of the group.
"Did you bring me what I asked for?" he questioned and the girl kneeled down before him. She took out something from the inside pocket of her dark cloak and offered it deferentially to the boy.
"Yes, Tom. Blackthorn wood, just as I promised. Particularly suited for the dark arts"
He noticed the dirt encrusted under the girl's fingernails, and he imagined her crouching down in her family's cemetery to dig out the casket of her long dead aunt. She had said she could provide him with a wand that would allow them all to cast spells in complete impunity outside the school.
"Your efforts will be compensated Walburga" he whispered and he gently stroked her pale cheek with the back of his hand. From his training sessions with Annabel Selwyn, Tom had learned one thing: power came in various forms and shapes. He could be industrious and affable to his teachers, assertive or ruthless with his friends, but with girls, praise and tenderness worked best. For a second, Tom remembered the feeling of Annabel's forehead against his neck, that time she had shared with him this childhood memory of hers. He still could not explain to himself that impulse he had felt to comfort her, on that day, and he simply assumed he had followed to the letter Dolohov's favourite precept: girls were like broomsticks, they could bring you far if you knew how to handle them well.
He reached for the wand and slid it into his pocket before he grabbed the glass Lestrange was handing him.
"Before we start, I would like to make a toast" he claimed, conquering.
"To Cillian Lestrange, for having so kindly offered to accommodate us. Thank you, for your hospitality. To Leonus Nott, for providing us with lab animals"
"Do not fear, there are enough for everyone to play with" said Leonus with a vicious smile as he made a low bow in response to Tom's acknowledgement.
The boy with jet black hair turned to the girl who was staring at him with an eager look on her face.
"To Walburga Black. Thank you, for making yourself dirty for us" he joked with a smirk that made the boys chortle.
"Last but not least, I would like to thank someone who is not here today but without whom none of this would have been possible" he smiled and raised his glass.
"To Annabel Selwyn. For a better tomorrow"
"For a better tomorrow"
And in one conjoined movement, the Slytherins raised their drink.
—
Annabel was sitting very straight, her legs crossed at the ankles, her hands placed neatly on her lap. She was staring at the intricate patterns of the baroque style tapestry above the shoulder of the old woman sitting in front of her. The lady was blabbering about the importance of birth charts in the exercise of matchmaking, but the girl was not listening. Her mind was elsewhere, down the Scottish Mountains.
Weeks ago, she was in Hogwarts, harbouring illusions of a brighter future. She was surrounded by her friends, contemplating the thrilling and new promises her recent association with Tom Riddle entailed. Their regular meetings gave her a purpose, something to rejoice over during the week and now that the holiday break started, she missed greatly the stillness of the woods and the smell of the trees.
"Annabel"
She jolted, suddenly interrupted in her train of thoughts by her mother.
"Mrs Spindle asked you a question"
She feigned an apologetic glance and fixed the woman with an inquisitive look. The old lady's face was as wrinkled as a dried plum and her wrists were covered in tacky bracelets. Her left hand was clinging to a wooden cane, its golden handle in the shape of a lion's face. Mrs Spindle was, according to her mother, the best matchmaker you could get.
"I'm sorry, my mind must have drifted away"
The woman gave her a kind smile and reiterated.
"What qualities are you searching for in a future partner, Miss Selwyn?"
The girl opened and closed her mouth, stunned. She knew the purpose of matchmaking was to find her a suitable husband but she ignored she was supposed to reflect on it. Annabel endured the disapproving glance her mother shot her when she shrugged and simply said:
"How shall I know, I never had a boyfriend"
The woman had a hearty laugh and put on the table the cup of tea she was drinking from the family's china. She glanced at the clock which almost indicated four o'clock and stood up with difficulty, leaning on her cane to support what seemed like a stiff leg.
"I am awaited elsewhere but I will reach out soon. In the meantime, I assign you some tasks" she declared as some parchments magically appeared on the coffee table. "I want you to reflect on the questions that are listed on this document" she issued.
"Owl me back your answers as soon as you can. Only then would I be able to find you fitting profiles"
Annabel waited until the lady apparated out of her parents' living room to heave a long sigh and cross her arms against her chest in clear discontent.
"I want you to start tonight young lady. And don't give me that look" her mother scolded her with a stern glance.
Annabel heaved an exasperated sigh. Arranged wedlocks were extremely common among pure-blood families and her parents never made a secret that her future spouse would be chosen on practical rather than emotional grounds. Of course, the girl knew no one would force her into marrying somebody she despised, since both her parents advocated that marriage worked best when love turned up. Yet, Annabel was not sure she wanted of that kind of love, the domestic one, the one that was filled with the sounds of babies' whines and mistresses' lipstick stains. Thus, to counter her parents' plan, Annabel had entered into passive resistance. The first step had consisted in hiding as long as she could that she was already bleeding, for an appointment with the matchmaker was traditionally made in the month following a girl's first periods. Annabel had succeeded for one year, but the two months of the summer break had given her away. She remembered how her mother had shown up at the breakfast table two weeks prior, the bathroom bin in hand, asking with a disappointed look why there was sanitary pads wrapped in toilet paper, and concealed under a pile of junk. The girl had been forced to tell the truth. She had mentally fulminated against the Ministry, for forbidding minors to use magic outside Hogwarts, leaving her with nothing but a roll of toilet paper as a last resort. The house elf Maeve, whom Annabel knew was the one who had spilled the beans, had profusely apologised to the girl later, her huge, ugly eyes full of tears, but the harm had been done. In less than twenty-four hours, the matchmaker had been called, and an appointment had been arranged.
Annabel grabbed the document that was on the coffee table and ran upstairs to her bedroom in a haste that betrayed her frustration. She was tempted to slam her bedroom's door, to convey her feelings to her mother, but she knew it would have only led to a possible chastisement.
She threw the document on her desk before she let herself fall on the rattan chair in her room. Her eyes grazed at the first page. It contained a list of questions she was supposed to fill in, organised by categories. The first one concerned herself, with questions about her qualities and flaws, her insecurities, her dreams. Did she like the city or the countryside, what season was her favourite… Did she want to work, how many children did she want to have.
She heaved a sigh at the thought that no question included: "do you want to get married?", nor "do you want to have children?" but only "how many" like it was obvious. Women wanted children and if they did not, society would bend them to its will.
She scribbled the first things that came to her mind, feeling like she was doing another quiz from that Witch Weekly magazine her roommates always read. Her grey eyes wandered on the top of the next page, which focused on romance and her interests in a future partner. She was asked to name five qualities she would like to find in a future husband, as well as a brief physical description of people she found generally attractive. She found herself sucking the tip of her quill pensively as she began to began to list the words: "charismatic", "intelligent", "ambitious", "tall" before she paused.
A souvenir of that time in May imposed itself on her. Before her trip to Cairo for her grandfather's funeral, from which all she could recall was the heavy smoke of the incense and the blue tiles of the altar, she remembered how she had confided in Tom. She had revealed things she never thought she would share, and her cheeks burned in shame at the memory of her immodest unveiling. She knew people did stupid things when they were drunk, did people do stupid things when they felt vulnerable too? Yet, he had been kind, and when she had met him a week later, on a warm spring day, the boy had acted like nothing happened.
Slowly, she lowered her quill to add more characteristics to the list.
"Gentle"
"Dark-haired"