SUMMARY: "Harry Evans was like lightning in a bottle. An impossibility." Tamsin Marvolo Riddle hides her cruelty and thirst for power under a perfected mask of charisma. When war-weathered Harry Evans transfers to Hogwarts, she is intrigued by the hatred, seemingly spurred on by nothing, he feels for her. A festering interest gives way to obsession. fem!Riddle/Harry
Green eyes dull and unbothered, Harry Evans took a stride forward.
He walked closer and closer, his footsteps thudding harshly against the marble, echoing through her mind prominently like warning bells. Tamsin's back was slick with a fine coating of sweat, and she felt a panicked adrenaline sing choked-up choirs in her bloodstream.
Tamsin was as still as a statue. For the first time in a long time, Tamsin didn't know what to do. Her hands felt increasingly empty without her wand to grip onto, and the powerlessness she possessed became more of a physical sensation than a feeling. It was invading her bones, her blood, her body. It immobilized her.
Her wand had rolled to a stop several feet away from her.
It was, all at once, close and far.
It was so close. If Tamsin ran for it, which would take a couple seconds at most, she'd be able to seize it before any typical dueler could fire another spell...
But this was Harry Evans she was dealing with. He was too quick, and it was too far. She would never be able to pull it off; he would hex her before she got close.
He'll hex me anyway, she was thinking, as she weighed her limited options in her head. Tamsin met his gaze and stared him down. Harry Evans was now about three feet away from her. He was still slow, measured, and cautious with his movements, like she was some wild beast with an affinity for pouncing.
This was the first time she had ever lost against an opponent.
The way he was walking to her filled her with an unreasonable amount of fear. Tamsin had never felt like this before: she had just witnessed a golden spectacle occur, when their spells had collided, something that she had never heard of, in all of her years of studying and practicing magic. And Evans had taken advantage of her shock, disarming her swiftly, turning the tables on her and making her feel a great, aching weakness in her bones.
Tamsin shouldn't feel this weak. Although Evans had a wand, he couldn't do anything to outright kill her, not while she had two horcruxes. Also, Evans, although possessing an aggressive and angry temperament, didn't seem like the type to kill either—at least, not while he would face severe repercussions. Evans wasn't threatening, not in the slightest, but that didn't matter. Tamsin didn't care about what would happen to her; the fear that was thrusting itself against her ribcage, the pain lashing out like an animal, was not because of a fear of death. It came from an irrational feeling of inferiority, of how she had been bested. It was unheard of. It was disgusting, disturbing, and it forced her breaths to come out rapid and burning.
She stared at the object of her loathing, so close to her now.
He had always been taller than her, but the height difference had never felt this stark until Evans was staring at her from this distance. Her eyes were level with the dip of his cheekbone. His wand was still pointed at her, like he was certain she had more tricks up her sleeve, like he was certain that she had let him disarm her on purpose, like it was a planned, tactical maneuver. Tamsin resisted the urge to laugh, high and hysterical and fearful.
Evans did not smile. There was a tension present in his body language. A crease between his dark brows, a tiny knoll of flesh and agitation
Tamsin felt her heart beat in her ears, pulsing and strong and unstopping.
She never wanted to feel like this—vulnerable, disadvantaged, facing an opponent she knew very little about…
Tamsin stole a breath of air, then decided.
She would distract him, with her words or with wandless magic. Then she would grab her wand, stun him, douse his insolent tongue with Veritaserum, extract the truth from him, and leave him for her basilisk. She could do it. It was viable, simple, effective. It was all she had.
His face was still devoid of emotions. He made no move to do anything—neither to curse her, nor pick up her wand, nor beat her face to a pulp. He just stood there, cocking his head, his wand still pointed firmly at her, observing her like she was not so much a person but an experiment he was unsure of.
He offered her a placid, even-tempered look. It was strangely foreign on his face: A demure smile for a boy with a lion-like anger within him.
"I'm not here to fight," Evans said finally.
Tamsin's lips unconsciously quirked at that. That was ironic. He had seemed ready for a fight. It was obvious he'd liked that bit of adrenaline, liked to chase the thrill of a fight with a worthy opponent. She'd seen the fire in his eyes, heard the wild pounding of his audacious heart.
She knew, because she had felt the same. She too had been itching for a fight. They both had wanted to crush someone with wit and magic and might.
She had wanted to fight, to curse, to win. He had, too.
"We can talk civilly, can't we?" Evans continued, watching her carefully, when she did not reply. "It should be easy for you. You're rather good at it—at talking."
Tamsin's mouth twitched; that wasn't a compliment. It was an insult, a barely veiled one at that. She stared at him with charcoal-black eyes, searing and dark, wondering what in the world Harry Evans was playing at.
"The gold that came out of our wands," she said slowly, ignoring his words, "what was it?"
Evans blinked and seemed to pause for a moment, tense, as if he wasn't sure if he wanted to indulge her with this information. Suddenly, his eyes flicked to hers, holding them captive in the darkness, and he took a breath:
"It's called Priori Incantatem. It not only summoned all that gold light, but also all of the people you've tortured in your past." Evans' eyes were dark, and his tone had a prominently bitter note. He looked away. "It happens when wands with cores from the same creature face off against each other."
A heady wave washed over her, though of what, Tamsin wasn't sure. Her eyes became pupil-blown, and she wet her lips, feeling an inner part of her heat up delightfully.
Everything had become startlingly obvious and heavily obfuscated. Everything she thought she knew about Harry Evans was being simultaneously confirmed and denied.
The golden light between them was not a fluke... Something—perhaps magic itself—was binding them together.
Their wands were connected.
They were connected.
For a moment, Tamsin forgot about the fear she'd been housing, the unease drowned out by a new, alight sensation of fascination and intrigue.
"The same phoenix, then," she felt herself saying. Her eyes darkened, an impassioned and intense look entering her eyes. "Our wands are brother wands. That is why they cannot bear to fight one another—they are flesh and bone, with the same core, with the same soul."
Harry Evans stared, his eyebrows drawn together. It took him a few seconds before he unlatched his mouth and said, rushedly, "Forget it, Riddle. It's not important—"
She let out a low chuckle. "Not important? It's the only reason you managed to disarm me."
His counterfeit impassiveness fell away. He rolled his eyes, sneering, "Oh, please, Riddle. Spare me your excuses."
Evans continued, his tone possessing a bladelike sharpness: "This won't be a long conversation, Tamsin Riddle." He looked at her fiercely, but she did not react. "I'll make you a bargain. An exchange."
"For my wand?" she asked, wondering what on earth Evans wanted. "My wand...in exchange for, what, for Eileen Prince?" She could barely keep the derisive scoff out of her tone.
"For the love of God," Evans said, irritated, the words sounding very muggle, "what is with you and Eileen?" He sneered. "What I'm suggesting has nothing to do with her. She's not here, evidently. I knew from the start that that little torture session you had good fun conjuring up was fake."
Tamsin looked on, coolly, though her mind shifted to take in this knowledge. How did Evans know? And why...why had he come, anyway? He could be lying, she reasoned thoughtfully, but some inner part of her resisted against this conclusion.
He continued, "I want your ring."
The corner of her mouth twitched. "My ring?"
Evans nodded at it, his emerald eyes reflecting an utterly nonchalant aura. His jaw tightened at her lack of reaction.
"Yes, Riddle," he stated briefly. "How hard is it to understand?"
Tamsin's head spun, feelings of anxiety and tension making her body unnaturally stiff. A new, burdening fear had corralled all of her thoughts, freezing them into place.
Harry Evans wanted her horcrux.
Tamsin worked through this quickly in her mind, while Evans cast her a searing look. Did Harry Evans know her ring was a horcrux? Did he think it was just an important trinket to her, or did he know, just as he had known her true name? She smoothed her features over with a purposefully deep breath.
"Why?" was the one word that crawled out of her throat.
He shrugged, looked away idly. "I don't know..." he said in a tone that said he knew everything. "I just...well, I'm a poor orphan with origins in war, and I've never really had anything valuable before... And your ring's quite beautiful."
"Is that all?"
"And I suppose I want to take it, because I can," said Evans, though it came out more as a snap. "Because you dragged my arse here because why the bloody hell not, pretended to torture my friend, and assailed me with a million spells. The least you can do to make it up to me is by giving me a random ring."
Tamsin stared, assessing silently, at him. Evans' face was scrunched up with anger, but there was something else stewing in his eyes. She ignored it. She continued to ponder, wondering still if Evans knew the weight of what he was asking…
But it didn't matter.
Whether Evans thought her ring was a horcrux or not, Tamsin would never part with her ring. The Gaunt Ring. Her second horcrux.
She needed to buy time. "It's actually a family heirloom," Tamsin told him, attempting to appeal to his empathy.
"Even better," fired Evans back. "I'm sure it would be good fun to wear to confuse your little snake sycophants."
She hadn't exactly been sure how Evans would react to this information, but this was certainly not a reaction she'd been expecting. Evans seemed like a sentimental loner. She thought he would feel more compassion, more empathy, towards her.
Then again, he did know about Voldemort. Perhaps he knew too much about who she was to feel any sort of empathy toward her. Did he know? Tamsin wondered. If he knew what she'd done to her family…it might explain his uncharacteristic behavior.
"It was a parting gift… The only thing I have left of them."
He prickled, something flashing in his eyes for a second. Harry Evans' voice was low and dark. It made gooseflesh spread across her skin, on her neck and back, dancing along her spine. "Good try. Might've worked if I didn't know who you are. I know your soul, Tamsin Riddle—or since you prefer it, Voldemort. Give me your ring." He looked at her expectantly, placed his palm out.
Evans sighed, after a long overdrawn silence passed. She made no move.
He finally said, "Accio Riddle's ring."
Nothing happened.
It stayed firmly, unflinchingly, on her finger. Her horcruxes had many a protection ward against them, making the summoning charm useless.
Evans' lips broke into an unsettling smile, though he didn't look all that surprised. Tamsin was starting to think Evans was fully aware of her ring's status as a horcrux.
His tone was sharp and commanding.
"I've had enough of this, Riddle. I'm the one with the wand right now, and you—in case you haven't noticed—don't. So I'm going to ask you one last time to give me your ring by your own freewill. And, if you do so, I might even give your wand back."
The way he talked to her…it encompassed her with a loathing, broiling, violent hatred.
He acted as if she was a child. Like she was his inferior.
Perhaps Evans had known her true name. But that didn't matter. It seemed that he knew nothing of who she was, and what she was capable of.
Tamsin smiled a lovely smile. However, if one surveyed her eyes, they would see a simmering darkness. "I don't need a wand to hurt you," she said pleasantly.
And she lunged at him.
With all of her force.
Evans moved to the right side; with those quick reflexes, his plan evidently to block her. Tamsin felt a laugh crawl out of her throat: He must have been under the impression that she was trying to reach her wand, thereby directing his body in its trajectory in order to stop her.
But he was mistaken.
Her only target was him.
She slammed all of her force into him, knowing full well that Evans had the height and weight advantage. But it didn't matter.
The shock, she figured, would be strong enough to even the playing field.
Evans was sent tumbling to the floor, the force knocking the breath out of him. Tamsin had grabbed hold of his shoulders and pushed him onto the floor of the lavatory. Her hands had begun to move forward out, attempting to pull Evans' wand away before he could begin sending spells at her.
Evans had momentarily closed his eyes from the impact. He groaned. She could see the faintest pearly gleam of the whites in his pupil-blown eyes in the shadowed setting. She could make out the lightning-shaped scar he had on his forehead, in the dark. But for some reason, perhaps because of their close vicinity, Tamsin had a strange and foolish desire to...touch it. She did her best to ignore it.
The darkness in the lavatory was viscous.
Evans was left scrambling in its embrace, as she pushed him down, grabbing his waist and forcing him further on the floor like a violent muggle. Tamsin didn't care. If she needed to, she would fight physically, would do anything to attain her goals.
If she didn't want to exhaust her wandless capabilities, she needed to use other resources.
Muggle brawling was undignified, but could be effective. In situations where Tamsin had nothing to lose—and everything to gain—she became vicious and animalistic, more of a wild animal than the godlike figure she strove to be.
Evans squirmed under her, trying to push her off. He was unable to. Tamsin pushed him further down, placing all of her body weight against his stomach, while she tried to wrestle his grip for his wand. Tamsin didn't bother looking for her own; she would never find it, not in this sort of thick, unyielding darkness.
Tamsin, under stress, did all she could to keep him down. She bit, she scratched, she left all sorts of vicious marks on Evans. He bared his teeth, wild and enraged, as he directed his wand in her direction.
One of his hands was wrapped tightly against his wand, and Tamsin could feel the hiss of a spell sent in her direction. Maybe it was because their wands were brother wands, but Tamsin could taste what the spell he was sending was, as if it had come from her own wand.
Evans was trying to send the full-body bind curse at her.
Tamsin concentrated, putting all of her force into her wandless magic—and a faint but clear shadow of a shield emerged hesitantly in front of her, protecting her from Evans' spell.
His brows drew down in surprise, as he attempted to fire several more silent spells. But Tamsin kept it up, putting all of her magical essence into it. It stood for seven glorious seconds, before collapsing. She felt much weaker now, magically, her energy sapped from her from the wandless magic.
Tamsin despised performing wandless magic; it made her feel weak, it drained her, it left her vulnerable.
She also despised Muggle fighting, but here she was anyway.
Evans, still shifting and writhing like an animal in the dark, biting and snarling, legs and arms pushing against her, looked tired; she could see the sweat beading on his neck, and the sight was cathartic. It felt good...the realization that he had been just as rattled as she'd been, even while possessing a wand.
Tamsin could feel the heat of his skin, his hot breath fanning against her as she continued to press against him. In the dusky setting, her senses were heightened, and she could feel the press of his warm skin against her...the smell of him. He smelled good. Like rosewood and spice and something faintly earthy...
Tamsin was brutally thrust out of thoughts, when Evans slammed his wand-hand's elbow into her left cheek. Blood gushed out of her gums, but all she could do was smile, with her teeth, scarlet-red and filled with elation. Evans looked at her like she was crazy.
And she was, in a way... High on delirium.
Tamsin laughed. "You wanted my ring, didn't you?" she asked mockingly. "Here it is," and she cocked her head at it, gesturing to her finger on his arm, where the black stone was pressed against his forearm. She pouted when he pushed upward and said nothing. "Why, Harry, don't tell me you've changed your mind? It's quite goddamn beautiful, after all."
Evans gritted out, "I'm going to kill you."
And he fired a spell—a verbal "Stupefy" that had the effect of thrusting her backward.
Tamsin, anticipating the spell, dove her hand against the ground, searching for the bone-smooth handle: Ah, there. She found it, just as the spell came colliding with her body, sending her hurtling, making her back hit a wall. Relief filled her veins, as she held her wand once more in her grip, tightly.
Evans got up, his eyes painted with rage. It was stunning, really, magnified in the dark. Tamsin smiled, though it hurt her mouth; the blood pooled against her teeth, tasting sharp and intensely metallic. It tasted like victory.
Evans cast a Lumos not quickly after, drowning the darkness and illuminating the lavatory with a warm, though slightly blurry, light.
Tamsin could properly see his features now—she could properly enjoy them. Properly savor them.
He was a wonderful, stunning picture of undiluted anger.
"Why, Harry Evans..." asked Tamsin, tone lilting, mouth bloody; she gestured to the wandlight, "are you scared of the dark?"
"Oh, please. I just couldn't find—" He paused abruptly, his tone drifting off into uncertainty. Evans began scouring the ground with his eyes for Tamsin's wand.
He flicked his gaze around, and as Evans' mouth drew into a contemptuous, lip-curled shape, Tamsin could see the realization dawning on his face.
Evans cursed.
Tamsin drew her wand out from behind her sleeve.
Tamsin's grin would be more at home on the face of a fiend—it was cruel and grotesque, almost beautiful in its unnaturalness. Tamsin hadn't smiled like that since her orphanage days, when she'd hung Stubbs' rabbit, though a close second was when she had killed her muggle family...
People—muggles and wizards—alike preferred her soft, carefully constructed smiles. But when Tamsin had nothing to hide, glimpses of a monstrous, powerful part of her flashed.
Tamsin continued to smile bloodily, though she brought her wand to the section of skin between her lip and chin, healing her bleeding mouth and gums, with a sealing spell. The blood was still there, heavy and bitter, but the flowing had stopped at least.
Tamsin looked at Evans carefully, analytically. Her lips were upturned, her eyes wild, but she tried to use her logic in the situation. They were at an impasse—Tamsin couldn't get an upper hand, and Evans could only manage to get one after she had been distracted with the phenomenon of Priori Incantatem. It might even happen again, if they continued to duel with their wands, and Tamsin couldn't allow Evans to obtain the upper hand again.
They would probably duel one another until dawn, or until one of the Hogwarts professors discovered them illicitly partaking in duels in girls' lavatories.
And...they appeared to be evenly matched. Tamsin would study him later—would figure out his weaknesses, make her own impenetrable—but until then, they were at a standstill, a stalemate…balanced on a knife's edge. It was a precarious and tricky place to be in, and after losing her wand once, Tamsin didn't want to duel him until after she was certain of her victory; Tamsin was skilled, but Evans was lucky. Tamsin did not want to take the chances.
"I'll make you a deal, Harry Evans—and not one as inane as giving my ring up for a wand," Tamsin said softly, looking at her wand. Her eyes soaked him up, waiting for him to cast a spell against her, but he didn't. He waited; it seemed that he wanted to hear what she had to say. "We cannot continue to duel; dawn is approaching shortly, and the school day will start soon. We appear to be evenly matched. And so, as we are at an impasse, I offer you a deal."
Evans' eyes narrowed.
"I will give you my ring," Tamsin said, her lips tight. "In exchange, you will allow me to dose you with three drops of Veritaserum."
His jaw clenched. "Fat chance."
Tamsin pushed herself off of the wall and walked closer to him, eyes flashing dangerously. If she played this right—if Evans agreed to it—then she could keep her ring while extracting the truth from Evans. "Why not?" she asked lightly. "It's a fair deal, and you seemed to want my ring. My precious heirloom. A soulful, little treasure."
Tamsin was right: his eyes widened, when he heard her say "soulful." Evans swallowed, trying to look uninterested. "It's just because...because it looked pretty. I've been—"
"You've been eyeing it since you've arrived at Hogwarts." Tamsin expressed her thoughts in a cold manner. "I don't know how you know so much about me…about Voldemort. About who I am and what I've done. But I will find out, with or without the Veritaserum. If you drink, you will save yourself a lot of pain in the near future."
Evans sneered. "Pain? What are you going to do, Riddle: ask Lestrange to duel me again? Or better yet, try it yourself? Want to get disarmed again that badly?
The agitation was a physical force in her blood. Tamsin tried to force her composure, but she was rapidly becoming more and more angered. Tamsin moved closer, while Evans moved back, until they were circling the lightened lavatory, eyes connected to one another's.
Tamsin, licking her lips, smiled. "I have the whole of Slytherin under my control, Harry Evans. What do you have…besides a sob story from the Continent and dirty blood?" She eyed him intensely. "You stand no chance against me. I can make your life hell."
Evans stared, looking like he very much wanted to hurl something back, something just as fiery and angry as he was. Moments passed, tension as thick and slow as molasses flowing in the air.
Instead, he tilted his chin up and asked, "Just three drops?"
"Only the three."
"Give me your ring, then."
Tamsin cocked her head. "I'm neither as stupid as you think I am," she said. "Nor as desperate as you want me to be. I will administer the three drops before giving you my ring."
Evans' eyes narrowed. "You're lying."
Tamsin smiled. "Am I?" she said. "Of course, seeing as we do not have another for us to be bound by an Unbreakable Vow, I need you to make another kind of vow—one on your magic—before giving you my ring." She appraised him slowly, watching his shoulders tense. "But other than that, I'd be more than willing to part with it…"
She continued, "You must vow that you will never attempt to purposefully harm or damage any part of it, physical or otherwise, as long as it is in your possession."
"'Physical or otherwise'?" Evans asked, asking in an innocent tone, while doing nothing to disguise the clear hatred plastered on his face. "Whatever do you mean by that, Riddle?"
She ignored him. "And you must vow that you will stay for ten minutes after the administration of the Veritaserum."
"And what about for your vows? Come up with any clever loopholes yet?"
"You may come up with my vows, if you like. I have no interest in loopholes," she told him, voice like silk. "I will keep my word."
"You will vow that you will not hold me here for longer than ten minutes after administering three drops of Veritaserum. You will vow that you will give me your ring—and no fakes, the one that is on your finger right now, the one with the big, black stone—"
"The Gaunt Ring, yes."
"—so yes, you will give it to me after administering the Veritaserum. And that—that's all."
Tamsin smiled. "As a sign of good faith, I will start. I, Tamsin Marvolo Riddle, swear on my magic—or, if my vow is broken, henceforth renounce it—that I shall not force Harry Evans to stay for longer than ten minutes in the lavatory after the administration of exactly three drops of Veritaserum. I vow that I shall give the Gaunt Ring to him, after he has stayed the full ten minutes after the administration of Veritaserum."
Evans breathed in and out, and blurted: "And I vow on my magic that I will stay the full ten minutes after the administration of three drops of Veritaserum. And I vow, while possessing Tamsin Marvolo Riddle's ring, the Gaunt Ring, I shall not cause any purposeful damage or harm, physical or otherwise, to it."
"Vow that you will keep it safe too," she whispered, a hoarse quality to her voice. "Vow that you will wear it, to the best of your ability."
Evans was now looking at her like she had sprouted another head. But he blinked and repeated the words back at her, agreeing to her conditions.
Tamsin slid the vial of Veritaserum from her robe pocket carefully. She took her time—her conditions were quite infallible, in her opinion. Evans wouldn't be able to defy her, not unless he wanted to turn into a squib.
She uncorked its cap, let it glisten for a moment under Evans' Lumos, and walked close to him, handing him the bottle with the dropper. Tamsin only intended to utilize a small quantity of Veritaserum for Evans—not just because it wouldn't require much to make him talk, but also because Tamsin intended to return it to the storeroom before Slughorn found out.
Evans took the dropper, squeezed it tight, and soaked up the Veritaserum in it. He opened his mouth, and let three, consecutive drops of silvery truth dribble down his throat.
Tamsin saw his Adam's apple bob, saw as the slivers of liquid drifted down.
She shook her head out of her trance.
Ten minutes was a short period of time. She wanted to squeeze as much as she could from him, before the Veritaserum's effects wore off—in approximately ten minutes, according to Tamsin's Potions knowledge. She cast a Tempus; it was three thirty-five in the morning.
"Who are you?" she asked immediately, once he had downed the Veritaserum.
"Broad question," he said back. "What are you asking about—"
"Your name."
"Harry," Evans answered, looking like it had pained him to say that. Before Tamsin could specify his full name, Evans continued, "I've never met my dad. My mum's surname was 'Evans.' She was muggle-born. Before you ask, they're both dead."
"You are a half-blood."
"I've said that before—but yes, I am a half-blood. Not like it matters...I don't want to be anything like your poncy, pureblood bootlickers."
She raised her brow. "Oh?"
"Yeah. They can go fuck themselves," he said, and his voice was lighter now, dizzier, like the Veritaserum was having the effect of loosening his tongue and stretching his vocal chords. "You, too, Riddle. Do me a favor and go fuck yourself, too."
He has such a vulgar tongue, Tamsin thought. Compared to purebloods, who talked in particularly charming tones, sipped tea, and used subtle insults, which avoided outright curses... Especially when conversating with the female sex.
"How do you know about my name?" she finally asked. It was the question that'd been pounding in her head. "How do you know about Voldemort?"
His lip twitched. He had a look of concentration on his face, when he stated, clipped, "It's a long story."
Tamsin's eyes darkened. Evans looked like he was trying to counter the Veritaserum, to resist its effects. Tamsin could not allow that, not after all the effort she had gone through to get him here, Veritaserum swimming in his veins, ready to let her sink her teeth into his mind and feast on the truth.
"I will ask you again. How do you know about Voldemort?"
Evans sent a glare that would send someone running. His nostrils flared, and he looked more animal than human. Finally, his mouth opened, after he spent some time gritting his teeth together—
"I know everything worth knowing about you and the little name you came up for yourself." Evans snarled, looking agitated. Tamsin had not done all that much research in how Veritaserum worked—as Tamsin could usually extract the truth through Legilimency—but she guessed that partial truths would cause some form of discomfort. Evans blurted, "When'd you come up with it, anyway? When you were, what, fourteen?"
"I was fifteen at the time," she said, gaze darkening. "Speaking of which... How old are you?"
Tamsin expected sixteen. He was a sixth-year student, after all.
"Seventeen."
Her eyes narrowed. "Generally, seventeen-year-olds are placed in their seventh year, regardless as their status as a transfer student." She tilted her head, gaze like a hawk's. Tamsin had noticed Evans had been rather average, even subpar, at certain subjects in the Hogwarts curriculum. "Unless...you failed the requirements—"
"Fuck off," he snapped. "It's not that. It's because when they asked, I lied about my age."
"Why?"
"To get close to you."
Her breath hitched.
Tamsin's heart was nothing more than a war drum in her chest, beating hard and fast.
"You wanted to be in the same year as me," she said, really tasting the words. "The question is why. Why would you—a half-blood student from the Continent, who has never met me before—want to get close to me? How would you, a nobody, know of my moniker?"
"Are those rhetorical questions?" Evans answered back.
"No, they were decidedly not. How do you know of Voldemort?" Tamsin asked.
Evans did not make a move to respond, his lips now twitching; Tamsin realized that the boy was trying to resist the Veritaserum, just as he had done with Tamsin's Legilimency. His will was strong, but Tamsin didn't care; the Veritaserum would win him over. It was like an Imperio. Resisting was futile.
Evans' mouth finally opened, and he took a breath. He closed, then opened his eyes.
Tamsin searched his expression, taking in finer details that his wandlight illuminated: a bit of a smile on his face, a genuine one, lips wet with spit; a languid bearing; hazy, vibrant green eyes; head tilted to the side with a sort of arrogance...
"Because...I'm your horcrux."
All thoughts disappeared from her mind.
—I'm your horcrux, I'm your horcrux, I'm your horcrux...
It kept echoing in her mind.
I'm your horcrux.
She hissed, "Where did you learn that?"
"I know of you—of Voldemort—because you have tied me to you. You have turned me into a horcrux," Evans said. He took in a breath. "What I'm trying to say is...I know of you because I have you within me."
Tamsin, for the life of her, could not process Harry Evans' words.
They rattled in her head, violent and cruel.
Evans was dosed with Veritaserum... Three drops would make even the strongest man bend to its whims, spill every and all secrets.
He wasn't lying.
But how did it make sense... Tamsin hadn't killed anyone recently, not since she had murdered her muggle father and grandparents. Unless she had somehow unintentionally committed the ritual with Billy Stubbs' rabbit, she couldn't think of how she had managed to create another horcrux.
She voiced her thoughts. "You're lying."
Evans smirked. "Veritaserum is a truth potion, not a lie potion, Riddle."
"You...you've done something. You've vanished the drops before they hit your tongue," she blurted, feeling like this was the answer. "You never consumed the Veritaserum."
"I made a vow, for Merlin's sake, on my magic." Evans cast a Tempus again, to prove he still possessed his magic; it was three forty-two, it revealed that they were only three minutes. "I did consume the three drops, and I am telling the truth. If I wasn't, then wouldn't my magic be gone now?"
"How is that possible..." Tamsin said. "I have no recollection of creating another horcrux, much less a human horcrux."
Unless...what if she had, somehow—turned him into a horcrux—and she'd been Obliviated—or, or—
"You wouldn't remember it," said Evans, interrupting her thoughts, "as it hasn't happened yet. You turn me into a horcrux in the future."
Her eyes dilated; darker pupils swallowed dark irises. The hairs on her back stood up on end.
"You're a time-traveler."
"Is that a rhetorical question too? Because if it isn't, then you would be correct." Evans' face was impassive, calm, as he took in a breath. "I am a time-traveler."
A/N: Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and sorry for the wait. I neglected writing for reading instead, oops. I'm halfway through Wuthering Heights, and god, some of it is so lovingly and poignantly written that it makes my heart pitter-patter. "Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same." I will have to include some influences of WH onto this story lol. Thank you so much for reading! I can't wait to write the next chapter—where Harry becomes a pro at making stuff up on the spot.