Author's note:

Hello hello,

Here is a new chapter! I edited super quickly so I'm super sorry if it entails any typos...

Thank you so so much for all the support, I'm blessed.

I hope you'll enjoy this one.

Lots of love 3

September 1942 - All Good Things Must Come to an End

"We barely share any classes with the Slytherins this year" noticed Elena as she slid her finger across the paper that lied flat in the middle of the table, displaying their schedule for the new school year. She took a sip of her jasmine tea and a pleasant floral smell filled the air.

"Merlin be praised. I already have enough of these two" heaved Sophia as she let herself fall on the bench after having handed in their schedule to the other Ravenclaws. The red-haired girl tilted her head in the direction of the main door, where a half-dozen Slytherins were entering the Great Hall. All were dressed in training clothes, ready to practice for the next Quidditch season. Annabel recognised her friend Alastair who was conversing with Ophelia Avery, the female prefect of Slughorn's house.

"Are they really that terrible?" questioned Margaret with a pout, staring in the same direction. Since the Hogwarts Express' incident, the small brown-haired girl never spoke a word of her fancying the blond boy ever again and Annabel ignored whether her crush had simply waned, or if she was sparing Sophia's feelings.

The latter rubbed a puffy eyelid with one knuckle. She looked tired, from the many engagements she was now charged with in school and Annabel felt guilt twist her guts at the thought that she was partly responsible for her friend's exhaustion. That said, she had believed they would pick Margaret as a replacement, for the girl's grades were good, and she was well-liked. Yet, it was Sophia who had received the honour of representing their house, and Annabel saw in her nomination a political statement. Selecting the girl, a newly exiled Muggle-born who barely spoke English two years prior, meant to show solidarity and acceptance towards the refugees. Besides, Sophia was highly engaged in the integration of kids like herself, and she had created a student association a year prior to provide the newly admitted students with language courses and basic teaching regarding the British wizarding world, to the Slytherins' great irritation, and Annabel knew that Sophia was often the victim of the baiting of the green and silvers.

"Well, that Avery girl is really bossy and Riddle is true to himself" she shrugged, as she grabbed a toast that she covered in a thick layer of butter.

"Meaning?"

"He gives you the feeling that he thinks he's better than you every time he opens his mouth"

"To be fair, he's very smart" argued Eudora as she pulled on a strand of hair, stretching the dark curl between her index and her thumb while her eyes scanned the schedule.

"That doesn't give him the right to be arrogant"

Elena rolled her eyes comically and Annabel drank a sip from her coffee, to avoid engaging in a debate about Tom Riddle. Her friends still ignored that she and the Slytherin had been meeting every Sunday for half of the previous school year.

The girl's penetrating glance turned to the green and silver table and she watched absentmindedly a hand waving at her. Rosier was gesturing to signal that she should come towards him, and once she understood that the boy's gesticulating was meant for her, she stood up, well-aware of the disapproving glance Sophia casted her from the corner of her eyes. She jogged across the Great Hall and stopped before her friend once she reached the opposite table. The members of the Quidditch team were finishing their breakfast and he turned around on the bench to face her. He searched in the inside pocket of his training robe before he handed her a note.

"It's not from me" he added as her eyes acknowledged the neat handwriting.

"He could have come to me himself" she chided but the blond boy only shrugged.

"He's busy"

She pressed her lips together as she glanced at the brief note that only contained a time and a place.

She had been looking forward to seeing him again, despite the sorrow that had constricted her chest more than once during the holidays. She had had no sign of life from him, despite the multiple times she had written. She had learned, from Rosier, that they had spent a few weeks together at the Lestranges' first, and then in London, once Tom was back at the orphanage. In her letters, that she had tried to make as impersonal as can be, she had hinted at spells they could practice together or quoted passages of books she had found thought-provoking. In fact, to distract herself from the matchmaker's troublesome visits, Annabel had explored her parents' library in minute detail and she had gathered content for their future meetings. Yet, he never replied, and she only learned from her own correspondence with Alastair that Tom was indeed receiving her letters, for the blond boy referred a few times in a post-scriptum to her ruminations, like in "Tom read what you wrote about the use of the number seven in Ancient Egypt, and he reflected on its properties of perfection and effectiveness, which contrasts with the holiness in Christianity".

She stopped owling eventually, when she thought she was making a fool of herself, the acknowledgement of her very being obviously now moderated by his friends. And in that very moment, she was vexed all the more that he had sent his mates to communicate with her.

"Tell him I'll do my best to be there" she said curtly before she turned around to exit the Great Hall and head to her first class of the year, Charms, with Dumbledore.

—

He arrived before her, which was unprecedented. He was always the one who turned up second. On time, of course, but never earlier than planned. Mostly because he did not want to wait, but also because he did not want to look too eager to spend time in her company. Not that he abhorred the hours they devoted to learn about the dark arts together, quite the opposite. In fact, he found her presence generally agreeable, and he sometimes considered that Annabel Selwyn was one of the few people he could bear spending an extended period of time with, without becoming inevitably bothered or bored. Yet, he did not want to have her believe that he was infatuated in her, something he had begun to fear partly from the many letters she had sent him that summer. He knew he was making wrong associations in his head. In fact, his aloofness was mostly related from the mistake he had made during the holidays, to give in to a few girls' advances who had proven themselves overly clingy afterwards. He was aware that she was not trying to seduce him by discussing grim prophecies and enigmatic wizards, that their association left little place for anything other than ingenuity and expertise. Yet, Tom had had his fair share of being lusted over by the other sex and he was in no need for another secret admirer, no matter how alluring she was.

He watched the sky become darker as the afternoon stretched and he did not need to look at his watch to know that he had been waiting for a while already. He wondered if she was trying to punish him by being late, for his lack of response to her letters. Yet, as he glanced once more towards the castle's main door, he saw her silhouette stand out in the crepuscule.

As usual, she walked with determination, her feet stomping the earth as if she was trying to punish the grass for its very existence. A gust of wind dived into her robe which she held close around herself, therewith revealing her slim figure.

"I did not know you promoted Alastair to being your messenger" she blurted once she was close enough for him to hear.

"Good evening Annabel" he greeted her, cocking his head to the side with a polite smile. He discerned a glint of exasperation in her eyes, and he thought irritation looked good on her, for it made her look vibrant and bright. He was tempted to provoke her, just for the sake of it, but he did not intend for them to bicker, so he stood up.

"Walk with me" he offered, glancing at her from the side as he began to stroll, noticing the subtle changes on her face since he last saw her. Her hair was long, that she was now wearing in a braid, and her cheeks had grown hollow, revealing all the more her high cheek bones. She was tanned, her skin olive, which made her eyes stand out. She stood straight, just like in June, but there was a hint of carelessness in her behaviour that he had never perceived in her before. She was strangely detached, as if some befogging thoughts hindered her from being really here. Perhaps was she playing it cool, just like him, and he wished he could have broken through that thick barrier that casted him away from her mind.

He had read a lot about Legilimency and Legilimotion during the holidays, for the Lestrange had an impressive collection of monographs on each and every subject. He had learned, for instance, that legilimoti were not that uncommon in the wizarding world. Yet, society's reaction towards people that were bestowed upon the ability of reading emotions varied greatly between places. Where they lived, such gift was often perceived as a weakness, for it was mainly associated to women as Annabel had rightly pointed out. Legilimency, on the contrary, while not uniquely attributed to men, was understood as impressive, for it gave access to thoughts, the organised, the rational part of the brain. Not to a surge of untamed and often contradicting sentiments. However, and despite his thorough research, Tom had found no explanation for that feeling he felt each time he touched her, that he had become acquainted to by now but which remained a mystery.

"How was your summer?" he queried, reluctant to broach the real reason of why he summoned her. She frowned and shot him a dazed glance before she simply shrugged.

"Quite all right. Yours?"

They rambled about for a while, walking along the Forbidden Forest but never actually going past the first row of trees. They made small-talk, chatted about flighty things. Meanwhile, she was looking expectantly at the woods, and he thought he was about to disappoint her.

Because some news were better digested when revealed fast, he announced:

"I will not be able to train with you anymore"

He invoked his many elective courses, his new position as a prefect. That he intended to score excellent grades at the approaching OWL exams. That they could always go back to practicing together when the time would be more opportune to such extra-curricular activities. That he was grateful for the time she had granted him so far.

He did not divulge, though, how he would miss training with her, that it was a decision he had made unwillingly. That his chest constricted each time he thought about the many obligations that awaited him and that he saw no other way than having to set his priorities straight. That it costed him, somehow, that he felt compelled to sacrifice their training for the sake of his academic achievement. He did not disclose that he had hold onto the hope that she would be offered the prefect's position, that he would have tried to arrange his schedule so they could have patrolled the corridors together, so that they could keep exchanging about the dark arts. He especially did not tell her that he had thought about her during the summer break.

Tom also did not say a word of the excruciating pain he had felt once he had to go back to the orphanage, after the weeks he had spend in the Lestrange manor, of that gnawing obsession that sometimes prevented him to sleep, concerning his filiation. That if he had found out that his grandfather was belonging to the House of Gaunt, he was still unable to track down his own parents. That the eventuality of his blood not being pure, that the idea that he, albeit so brilliant, so perceptive, could be descending from a mediocre family, was to him unbearable. And that ultimately, his only way out was his own success in Hogwarts, and that he could not jinx it all just to keep training with her.

She frowned but when he stopped his tirade, she gave him a compassionate smile.

"It's probably for the best. I will be rather busy myself this year anyway" she nodded swiftly before she glanced at the castle behind her.

"If you'll excuse me, my friends are waiting for me for dinner" she articulated and a bittersweet feeling gripped him. He felt at once surprisingly lighter, as if he had been dreading her disappointment, but the frivolity with which she seemed to take the news vexed him.

He watched her jog towards the castle, her braid dancing in her back before she disappeared behind the main door.

What he did not see, though, were the tears she held, how she stopped in the closest bathroom. How she urgently locked the first stall, before drops escaped her eyes and rolled all the way to her chin, wetting the collar of her school uniform.

How ultimately disappointed and jilted she felt.