When Evelyn awoke the next morning, she was stiff. The bruises had worsened. It was to be expected; they were only a few days old so they would get worse long before they got better. She couldn't believe that boy last night—Tom—had noticed them. Actually, she couldn't believe he noticed her at all. No one ever did. She didn't have any friends at Hogwarts; her quiet personality hardly drew anyone in and Evelyn had always been determined to keep people at arm's length if that was what it took to keep up the walls around her heart. But Tom, who had never seen her before last night, somehow knew the bruises were there, sensed that they were beneath the sleeve of her robes. He grabbed her with that icy grip and stared at them as if they infuriated him.

It made no sense. He made no sense. He was a Head Boy. Wasn't he supposed to report her to Professor Snape for being out of bed after curfew? But instead, he talked to her, walked her to her bedroom, and almost cared for her. She must have been seeing things; the middle of the night had been known to cause tired people to hallucinate. No one cared about Evelyn.

All morning, she waited for the moment when Professor Snape walked up to her table with his foreboding presence and sentenced her to detention for being in the library too late. She hadn't meant to stay that long there. It's just... after the sorting ceremony, when she returned to her empty dorm room, her body tired from her grandmother's recent beating (the one after her last day in the graveyard), she hadn't wanted to be alone. It was silly; Evelyn had always been alone. No one ever wanted to room with her and the professors hadn't forced them to. And it wasn't like she had much company at home either. Normally, she liked being alone.

But last night, there was almost a shift in the air. Evelyn felt trapped in her prison of isolation. She felt empty. So she packed up one of her books and went to the library where she stayed for hours until she finished it. The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson. Ironic considering it was about a mansion haunted by many poltergeists when Evelyn was feeling completely alone in her own self-proclaimed mansion.

She tried to scurry back to her bedroom unnoticed. Normally, that was easy. Most people hardly remembered Evelyn existed so she was used to being silent. But it was almost as if Tom had sensed she was there. That's crazy. Even Dumbledore can't do that. And yet Tom lingered in the shadows as if he was waiting for the moment she waltzed into the room.

When he spoke, his face was deep and alluring, smooth like the skin on his face. He had this air of confidence that he wore well, one that faltered as soon as he looked into her eyes. Tom took a step back as if he had just seen a ghost before the mask went back up and he was back to taunting her like he was the predator and she the prey.

Why are you alone in the corridor? Haven't you ever heard that it's... dangerous? Nothing, in that moment, seemed more dangerous than Tom Riddle. And yet she couldn't bring herself to run. Maybe it was because his eyes were exactly like the ones she saw only days ago before she fell unconscious. Maybe it was the hint of a smile that rested on his lips, handsome enough to make her want to see more. Or maybe it was something deeper, something hidden beyond the surface that drew her in. It was crazy, she knew, and yet Evelyn had the distinct feeling that something pulled her soul to Tom, that they were meant to meet in the hallway that night. That's ridiculous.

When Tom later touched her, she felt as if his icy hands burned her, like the bitter sting of frostbite had befallen her entire arm. Normally, she would have hissed in pain and pulled her arm away before he could see more. But something about Tom stopped her, something that allowed him to caress the injuries on his arm, injuries that clearly made him angry. His jaw clenched and his eyes darkened until he seemed satisfied enough to let it go.

He offered to walk her to her dormitory. She resisted—even though she didn't want to—but it was clear that when Tom wanted to do something, he did it or not. She got the feeling that him asking her was merely a courtesy and he would have gone whether she allowed it or not.

They spoke for a moment. Tom learned that she was the daughter of Regulus, the heir to the noble House of Black, while she learned that he was the heir of Voldemort. Perhaps she should have been bothered to learn that this dark, mysterious, and clearly dangerous man was the son of the Dark Lord but she wasn't. She had learned long ago to not judge someone on their background. She and her father were so very different from his awful parents, her grandparents. Perhaps Tom was the same way. And anyway, she no longer feared death, not when her life was decidedly worse than its cold embrace. If her death came at the hands of Tom Riddle, she wouldn't argue. It just meant that she could see her father sooner.

They bid each other goodnight and she couldn't help but notice how her name rolled so naturally off his tongue. But she doubted she would ever see Tom again—they were in different grades and probably different social circles as well, considering she was in no social circle at all—so Evelyn allowed herself one last look into his alluring gaze.

And as Tom stared at her with his dark eyes, Evelyn had the distinct feeling that she was looking into the eyes of the devil. And yet, despite that, there was a part of her that knew that Lucifer was God's favorite, that he was the most beautiful of all. And Tom Riddle was very, very beautiful.

The next day, she struggled to get out of bed. There were dark circles underneath her eyes and her skin was sunken in to the point it looked hollow. Skipping the feast coupled with staying out late (and her already awful injuries) didn't look well on her. Thankfully, it was a weekend and she had no one to impress.

Evelyn walked to the table and watched as students moved to leave her alone. They always avoided her as if she had the plague. To be fair, it wasn't as if she gave a friendly aura. She never talked in class, never went to Quidditch matches, didn't go with a group to Hogsmeade, spent most of her day in the library, and could be a tad snarky to anyone she found an idiot. No, she wasn't the nicest and she wasn't going to pretend she was. She didn't care for their opinions anyway.

She attempted to munch on a piece of toast before realizing that her ribcage hurt too badly to eat anything. It was where the brunt of her grandmother's wrath incurred. In a few days, she would go to the hospital wing and ask Madam Pomfrey to heal it, citing a flying lesson as the cause. Now, it was too early in the school year to draw attention to anything that was happening to her at home.

Owls began to fly into the Great Hall but Evelyn ignored them. Her grandparents never wrote to her and she didn't know anyone else outside of school. So when an owl dropped an envelope and a small parcel at her table, Evelyn was completely shocked. What is this? she thought, examining the expensive-feeling parchment as if it were a foreign object. In a way, it was. She couldn't remember if she had ever received a letter after her Hogwarts one when she was eleven.

Little Dove,

Apply this to your wounds.

It wasn't signed but she knew exactly who it was from. Little Dove. Tom called her that last night, though she wasn't sure why. She didn't stop him. Having a nickname felt nice, even if it was from someone she hardly knew.

Evelyn opened the parcel to find a large vial with a thick yellow paste. On the glass, it said Bruise Removal Paste followed by a set of directions, which said to apply to any bruise and it would make it disappear within an hour. This is oddly kind of him, Evelyn thought as she stared at the vial. She wasn't used to help from anyone, much less strangers. And, to be honest, Tom didn't seem like the caring type. So why did he send her this? She looked around the room to see if he was nearby but, to her disappointment (something that deeply shocked her), Tom wasn't anywhere in the room. Evelyn frowned and pocketed the vial before leaving the Great Hall to apply it.

. . .

Later that evening, as a fire cracked in the library, Evelyn couldn't help but think of Tom. She hadn't seen him all day and yet he was present in her mind as if he were standing right in front of her. His bruise removal paste worked wonders. She applied it in her dormitory bathroom over her body. Not only did it remove them within half an hour—fading the deep green and purple back to her normal, ivory skin—but it worked within fifteen minutes, less on some of them. He must be gifted with potions, she mused as she watched in wonder as her skin turned back to its regular hue.

Evelyn showered the paste off when she was finished. She already felt much better. Her body felt lighter and less sore. Her rib was still broken but with the absence of the other pain, it was much more bearable. Perhaps she would go to Madam Pomfrey sooner than she thought; she could walk almost entirely without a limp now.

She took a walk around the castle, enjoying the overcast sky and cool winds. The castle grounds were beautiful, especially when they were deserted by students not interested in braving the colder weather that the day happened to bring. Evelyn wasn't sure why she expected to run into Tom during her stroll nor why she was disappointed when she didn't. But the tall, dark, and handsome man was nowhere to be found. It was almost as if he had never existed at all.

Was he a ghost? A figment of her tired imagination? But Evelyn knew that wasn't true. She felt Tom's presence somewhere deep in her soul, like there was a connection between them she couldn't quite place. Plus, his note burned a hole within the pocket of her robes, paper proof that he was real. Little Dove. She couldn't have imagined the way his irises widened as they gazed into her own nor could she have imagined the way the term of endearment rolled so naturally off his lips.

Realizing that she was a bit too enamored by a man she had seen only once—a ridiculous notion, especially given the current state of her heart—Evelyn decided to spend the rest of her day in the library. The pain in her ribs was still too much for her to eat but she would be fine; her grandparents had withheld food from her for much longer than a day. And she was rather looking forward to reading her book about a vampire king who fell in love with a human woman meant to be his victim. Ever since Kreacher gave her the novel the day before she left for school, Evelyn wanted to read it. Now, she had a quiet evening before the semester started without any homework to worry about. She could just relax with her not-sore body and curl up in a corner on the floor as her mind wandered through a fictional world with characters that made her feel not so alone.

And that was exactly how Evelyn spent the rest of her day: reading her book in the dim lighting of the corner of the library nearest the restriction, listening as groups of students came and went, none of them knowing she was ever there at all. Her thick, loose curls served as a cushion between her head and the bookshelf behind her while her legs went numb from being curled up in a position for so long. Her rib ached and her stomach kind of hurt yet her body felt nice, healed from all of the bruises.

She thumbed through the book as the sun steadily set throughout the day, completely unaware of the shadow in the corner of the room that had been watching her since that morning at the breakfast table.

Ooooh, so mysterious. Gosh, it feels weird saying that about my own work haha. I have a feeling that the chapters in this book will be longer than in my others so I'm not sure how many parts it will be in total. Hopefully, it doesn't end up feeling too long or too short.

Please review and follow! Thanks babes x