It was on Hallowe'en that Astraya's plans could finally come to fruition.

The girls were all eager for the Hallowe'en feast at the end of the day as they wandered back to the castle from their last lesson, Herbology. The days had grown shorter, colder and wetter. The sun was already sinking behind the horizon, and the air was chilly with the promise of rain. They were on the cusp of winter; already every tree was stripped bare of leaves, naked branches swaying forlornly in the icy wind.

As they reached the Entrance Hall, stepping gratefully inside the warmth of the castle, Cora – who had an incorrigible sweet tooth – gushed abouts all the sweets and candy that were going to be at the feast, Ophelia agonized over the amount of homework they had while Ava was brooding over the lengthy detention she had got from Professor Blackwood – whom she held a grudge against for a falling-out at the Ministry that had landed her father in Azkaban. She and her brother had missed several of his lessons, before Headmaster Dippet had intervened and contacted their mother. In the end, they had both ended up with a month of detention, and a ton of accumulated homework from the numerous lessons they'd missed.

Astraya's thoughts, however, were miles from Blackwood and his mysterious relationship with Ava's father. When she'd checked on the Polyjuice Potion just that morning, she'd found it had finally turned into a thick, mud-like substance, bubbling slowly as she stirred it. Her face had scrunched in disgust just at the thought of swallowing it.

The choice of which of Riddle's followers to impersonate had been …well, not a choice at all. Rosier and Lestrange were the most skilled and intelligent of the group. The effort it would take to subdue one of them would be tiresome, and besides that, they were too close to Riddle. She'd have to be very careful not to act out of character. Mulciber was less dangerous than them, but still too careful to suit her purposes.

Avery and Nott were the ideal choices: the weakest magically and of little intelligence. It would take little to no effort to keep one of them out of the way until the potion wore off. Not to mention that while she'd been closely observing their behaviour so that she could emulate it, she'd noticed that they often kept their quiet during Riddle's little conferences, and that their gang leader himself paid them little attention. Due to their meek and easily intimidated characters, he probably thought it unnecessary to rule them with an iron fist as he did with Lestrange, for instance.

Which made them, from Astraya's point of view, perfect.

She had debated thoroughly which one of them to impersonate, and had finally settled on Nott. Clearing up the rest of the kinks in her plan had been more difficult, but now, on the evening of action, everything had been prepared, organized, checked and double-checked.

She wanted everything to run smoothly. She had been working towards this for a month.

But, admittedly, things were going more easily than she'd expected.

She had chosen Nott instead of Avery because he was a lone wolf. He obeyed Riddle easily enough, but he always gravitated towards his own company rather than Riddle's or any of his friends, whereas Avery did his best to ingratiate himself on Riddle and an the 'higher-ups' of his gang – Rosier and Lestrange.

She had assumed it would not be difficult to get Nott by himself and then stun him, but even so she was surprised by how simple and convenient it turned out to be. As it appeared, Nott was not only a loner, but a diligent student, seeing as he elected to remain behind that afternoon to finish some homework while his friends headed out. She wondered why she was surprised. Nott had never missed a homework deadline since they started term, despite the sheer load of the assignments, unlike some other members of Riddle's gang.

He emerged from his dorm thirty minutes before the feast. Riddle hadn't returned from wherever he'd gone, meaning he'd probably headed straight to the Great Hall with his followers, and Nott was going to join them. The common room was mostly empty by then, most Slytherins – including Cora and Ava – having already gone to the Great Hall, brimming with excitement. Astraya had originally planned to just stay behind as the girls set out for the Great Hall then put the rest of her plan into action, so when Ophelia had said – over Cora's vehement protests – that she wanted to stay behind for a bit to finish some homework, Astraya eagerly agreed to stay behind with her.

She excused herself after several moments had passed, caught up with Nott in the Entrance Hall and fired a quick, effective stun spell at his unsuspecting back. He dropped to the floor like a ragdoll. The Entrance Hall was dark and empty, and the raucous noise and bright, orange light emanating from the Great Hall had concealed the red jet of the stunning spell.

She quietly levitated the unconscious Nott and stowed him away in a broom closet, where she quickly stripped him of his clothes and plucked a few hairs from his head. Their shoes seemed to be the same size, so she didn't take his. She paused while she closed the door, then cast a repelling charm so that no-one would approach or open it. She made a quick detour to the dungeon room where the Polyjuice Potion sat concealed in a cauldron, deposited the stolen robes under the same concealing charm, then hurried back to the common room.

She found Ophelia gathering her textbooks. "We should head up to the feast," she said, worrying her lip between her teeth in that irritable habit that Astraya had tried so hard to stop in herself. "It'll be starting soon, and Cora will get mad if we're late. Hallowe'en is like Christmas for her."

Astraya smiled. "Probably because of all the candy."

She stuffed her copy of A Complete History of Goblin Rebellions – Professor Binns had given them a foot-and-a-half essay to write over the weekend – into her schoolbag, then, making sure Ophelia's back was turned, took out a vial of orange-tinged liquid. She grimaced at what she had to do, but steeled herself and took a healthy swallow. The pungent taste was only an understated prelude to that of the Polyjuice Potion she was going to swallow later tonight. Even still, it was going to be worth it if everything worked out as she hoped.

The effect was almost instantaneous. Her stomach roiled, and her muscles seized as what remained of her lunch climbed up her throat, carrying the bitter taste of bile with it. Her hand clamped tight over her mouth as she bolted out of the room to the bathroom, Ophelia calling worriedly after her. She barely made it in time before she doubled over and spasmed. She vomited every last drop of her stomach's contents into the toilet, and continued heaving even when all that came out was ragged gasps.

"Merlin, are you alright?" Ophelia's fearful exclamation reached her from where she knelt on the cold tiles. She rose shakily and went to the sink, rinsing her mouth until she had removed most of the unpleasant, acidic taste from her mouth. Her throat was sore, and as she finished washing up she gagged again forcefully.

She took a few steadying breaths, then faced the bespectacled girl wringing her hands and biting her lip. She gave her a weak smile. "I think I had a little too much trout at dinner." She swallowed and winced. "I don't think I'll be able to go to the feast after all."

"Do you want me to stay with you?" Ophelia offered, following Astraya to the dorm and watching with a sympathetic look as she slumped on her bed, rubbing her stomach.

She shook her head. "No, you go ahead. I don't want you to miss out. But I don't think I'll be having any of the toffee apples Cora was going on about, after all."

"Oh, she'll be so disappointed. This is the second time you've missed out on something she wanted to show you. And both times, I was with you! She might start getting suspicious."

Merlin's beard, I hope not. "She'll be fine." Even if I have to use a Confundus Charm on her. "Maybe she can save some of her favourite candy for me and I'll see if I'm up to eating some of it." She made a show of glancing at the serpent clock on the wall. "You should get going though."

She started worrying her lip again. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay with you? Oh, maybe you should go to the hospital wing, you could be seriously ill –"

She cut off the anxious rambling. "I'm fine. I just have an upset stomach. Cora's been chattering about toffee and coconut squares and black liquorice so much I feel like I've been eating nothing but sweets all day. No wonder I'm sick. Go. And tell Cora to stay as long as she wants. She'll haunt me like the Bloody Baron if she has to cut her Hallowe'en celebrations short just because I threw up."

After several more reassurances, Ophelia finally left. Astraya shook her head. It was a mystery how that girl ended up in Slytherin.

Rising, still rubbing her unsettled stomach, she took out another vial, this one filled with clear fluid. She brought it to her lips, hoping it tasted better than the vomit-inducing potion. It did, the taste pleasant, almost sweet. The potion and its antidot had been very easy, and very quick, to brew.

She glanced at the clock again. The first two phases of her plan were complete. Nott was out of the way, and she was certain that Cora – or any of the other girls – would not need any encouragement to make the most of the festivities.

She made her way to the dungeons, wincing at the remaining foul taste in her mouth. There was no point trying to get rid of it, not when she was going to drink Polyjuice Potion soon.

Unveiling the cauldron, she wrinkled her nose at the thick black smoke swirling around it, and gave the thick, muddy potion one last stir. She actually had to use some force to move the ladle through the sludgy brew. She poured a large dollop into a tall glass she had set aside for this, then added the hairs she'd plucked into it.

She fumbled quickly to pull off her own clothes and don Nott's. They seemed clean at least. He was a touch taller than her, and thinner. His shirt felt tight as she buttoned it. Taking one last deep breath, she lifted the glass of Polyjuice Potion, which had turned a greenish yellow after she added the hairs, to her lips.

It was foul. Really foul. She gagged as she forced herself to take the whole glass. With a shaking hand. she set it down on the floor, doubling over. Her body burned, her blood fizzing and boiling. Her insides had turned into snakes, twisting and hissing inside her body. Her shoulders widened, her limbs thinned into reeds, her long thick hair retracted to mousey fuzz on her head, her face lengthened, her curves disappeared, her gasps changed from a soft, feminine noise into a raspier timbre.

She straightened stiffly, still trembling with the aftereffects, then reached for her wand, her breath ragged.

" V-visum Speculum."

The masculine voice felt surreal as it emerged from her throat. An oval of sheer, silvery mist appeared in front of her. A floating mirror reflecting her face. Only it wasn't her face, but Nott's.

She released a breath. It had worked. She rose from the floor, stretching, testing out her new, temporary body. The feeling was strange, but not altogether uncomfortable. His clothes now fit her perfectly. She'd kept on her own shoes, and though they felt tighter than usual, there was no particular discomfort.

She dug around in his pockets until she found his wand. It was shorter than hers. She tried to bend it carefully. She didn't know much about wandlore, but she thought it was rather springier than hers.

She tucked it back into his robes and reached for her own wand. She'd left the one she'd normally use in her trunk and chosen her old one instead. Though she was ashamed to admit it, it provided her with a sense of safety. She flexed her hand on the familiar wood. It felt right to use it tonight.

Astraya cast the concealing charm again, making sure to hide her discarded robes as well. She squared her shoulders, then strode back to the Slytherin common room to put the fourth phase of her plan into action. This one was just as important to her as the last phase. She didn't head to the boys' dormitories yet. There was something she needed from her own. For a second, she wandered if the corridor would repel her now that she looked like a boy. She hadn't thought of that possibility, but strangely enough, it didn't keep her from entering the girls' dormitories.

After she'd retrieved what she wanted, she went, roll of parchment in hand, to Riddle's dormitory. A slight unease prickled her as she approached the door, reminding her of her shameful, unpleasant experience the last time she came here. She ignored it, straightening and throwing her shoulders back. With a decisive nod to herself, she pushed open the door and stepped inside. There was a soft click as it shut behind her.

The room was the same, apart from the bric-a-brac the boys had left lying here and there that hadn't been there last time. Once again, she immediately recognised Riddle's trunk and made a beeline for it. She opened it with a flick of her wand and shoved his school robes and that ugly grey outfit to the side, until she revealed the tattered tome she'd seen last time. She'd half expected to find that he was done with it by now.

" Deprehendre."

The dome of hazy, bright colours appeared, colour upon colour swirling inside. Astraya unrolled the parchment, smoothing it out on the carpet. When she'd first organized the chart, she'd spent hours playing with paint in order to get each colour right. Each type of spell – Jinx, Hex, Charm – had one main colour, but the exact shade could be used to identify the specific spell used. She had put afternoon upon afternoon of hard work in until she'd replicated the indicative colours perfectly on the parchment. Next to each colour, her slanted script outlined what spell – or what type of spell – it represented.

It was almost effortless at first to undo Riddle's enchantments. A Stinging Hex, an Anti-intruder jinx, similar to the repelling charm she'd used earlier, a few protective enchantments. The last one stumped her. A phosphorescent, indigo haze. Blue was the colour of curses, and usually the darker the colour, the stronger the spell.

She made a quick mental list of the most gruesome curses she knew. Riddle's last defence would be nothing short of vicious.

For the first few curses, there was no progress. She hesitated before casting another one. The feast would have likely started by now, and Nott's friends would have noticed he wasn't there. She had no idea if Riddle would send someone to look for Nott, which meant that she needed to finish her work here before anyone could catch her.

She set her jaw decisively. After casting a Shield Charm on the rest of Riddle's belongings, she pointed her wand carefully at the book. " Confringo."

The indigo haze gave a violent shudder then dissipated. Astraya lifted her wand to shout Finite before her spell could blast the book apart, but there was no need. Nothing was happening.

She smirked, impressed despite herself. It had to have been a very powerful curse. Confringo had just barely managed to penetrate it.

She extracted the book quickly and set it down on the carpet next to her. She'd leaf through it later. Then, she set about looking for that damned necklace. She eventually found it hidden in Riddle's rolled up robes, when she tossed them aside carelessly to look underneath, causing it to tumble out.

He'd been cleverer with it than he had been with the book, disguising it as a pendant with a capital letter R hanging from the chain, a serpent coiling itself around it.

She was confused for a minute, looking at it. Riddle didn't seem to be the sort to care for such frivolous ornamentation. Besides, as she had coyly pointed out to him a few days ago, where could he afford? Then it came to her.

She cast the counter-charm easily. This spell she did not need any help to identify. It was a favourite of hers.

Then, there it was. The cursed thing that had kept her awake for weeks. She stuffed it into her robes after doing a quick check with Deprehendre. There were no other enchantments placed on it. She shook her head in smug amusement. Riddle was good – really good – but his weakness was his arrogance. She should be careful not to let her own arrogance get the better of her, since she had plenty of it too.

She meticulously returned everything to where it was, taking a long, searching look to make certain that she'd put everything back as it had been. Then she left, book tucked under her arm and hurried back to her room. Normally, she was so light on her feet that her footsteps could not be heard on the soft carpet. But in Nott's unfamiliar body she felt clumsy and awkward, fumbling each step. Her heart was beating like a drum in her ears, her palms were clammy, and beads of sweat had formed on her forehead. She had never been someone to sweat profusely, so it must have a trait of Nott's.

Only when she made sure that both her necklace and Riddle's book were secure in her trunk did she feel steadier. She'd figure out how to destroy the necklace later – permanently this time.

Back in the common room, she glanced at the grandfather clock, which was excessively fancy like everything else in the room. Nearly an hour had passed. She doubted Riddle would stay much longer at the feast.

It was time for the final and most exciting – or most dangerous – part of her plan.

Tom was annoyed.

He'd allowed Nott to stay behind while he and the others went to the library only because he always did what Tom asked of him readily. He was something of a loner, which didn't earn him any points with Tom's other followers, but as far as Tom was concerned, he was a good friend. Or rather, a good servant. But Tom couldn't show that attitude openly, not while he was still in school with Dumbledore breathing down his neck. All the same, Tom didn't feel that Nott's leash had to be as short or tight as the others', so he'd agree to let him remain at the dormitory.

Evidently, however, by letting him stay behind, he'd let his leash grow too long. He hadn't joined them in the library earlier, nor had he come to the Great Hall for the Hallowe'en feast at all. Tom had debated whether to send one of the others to retrieve him, but he'd dismissed the thought at the end. He'd deal with him soon enough. And if he showed up before the feast concluded, Tom might even give an opportunity to explain his absence.

Soon, however, his mind was occupied with another problem: Astraya Sader, who – like Nott – seemed to be absent. Tom had spent the last five days deliberating how best to punish Sader for that misleading hogwash she'd fed the Flint girl, who had then proceeded to announce it to the whole school in a rather… creative retelling, causing Tom to earn the curious, interested gazes of every single student, including his own friends.

Although, they had the good sense not to ask him anything about it, unlike several of the girls that Tom had turned down over the years. His followers were the only ones who knew how much Tom hated Astraya, so they had to know the circulating rumours about the two of them were rubbish. What baffled them, Tom knew, was not the rumours themselves but where Flint could have possibly got the fodder for them. Gossip was largely unreliable, but they were always based on one truth or another.

The talk seemed to have reached even the teachers. Dumbledore's eyes had been sharper and more probing than ever, and he'd had to grit his teeth throughout Transfiguration. Slughorn, on the other hand, had seemed delighted by the possibility of Tom and Astraya being a couple and had spent all of Potions flashing his foolish smile knowingly at Tom and clapping him on the back often enough that he'd had to restrain himself from actually cursing the fat, dim-witted man.

All that had put Tom in a rather sour mood. The Hallowe'en feast was lost on him – he'd never had much love for that holiday, and not even with Hogwarts' splendid celebrations could sway him. The air was thick with the cloying scent of candy. Out of obligation, he had a few liquorice wands, a very thin slice of fudge and indulged himself with some peppermint-and-chocolate ice squares. Peppermint had always been his favourite flavour in sweets.

But overall, the sickly-sweet food and excessively jovial chatter gave him a headache. The same headache he'd developed on the Hallowe'en feast every year at Hogwarts.

And now, to finish Tom's most unpleasant week at Hogwarts in five years with a flourish, Nott's insubordination.

He was seething as he finally left the Great Hall, one of the earliest students to leave, as always. Seething at Nott, at Sader, at Dumbledore. It was all he could do not to erupt as they made their way from the Great Hall to the Slytherin dungeon.

He started devising the ways he could take his anger out on Nott as they neared the stairs to the dungeons, when he heard the object of his grisly musings shout behind them, " Riddle! Wait!"

Tom spun around, his eyes landing on Nott, who was hurrying down the wide marble staircase in the Entrance Hall. His first thought was that Nott's punishment had just doubled. Riddle? He hadn't allowed any of them to call him by name since last year, when he'd first come up with his new name. His second, more rational thought, however, was examining Nott's state. The lanky boy seemed out of sorts, sweating profusely – as he was wont to do – and panting hard, drawing in gulps of air as he finally came to a stop in front of Tom. His face was pale, his gait unsteady.

Tom approached the boy, his stare fixed on him. His other followers watched with trepidation as he came to a stop right in front of him. He was not much shorter than Tom, but the way he was cowering now made him seem much smaller, so that Tom towered over him. In a low, threatening whisper, he said, "Care to explain yourself, Nott?"

He swallowed, his forehead shining with sweat. "I-it was Sader," he stammered.

The name had an instant, tangible effect on Tom. He straightened, and his stare shifted from threatening to alert. "What about Sader?"

Nott swallowed again. The boy was more nervous talking to Tom than any of the others. While this usually amused him, now, with the excitement flaring inside his chest, it only grated on his nerves.

"I-I was following her," he finally managed. "I was on my way to join you in the Great Hall. She'd gone out ahead of me so I assumed she was going there too, but she didn't go to the Great Hall. She went up the stairs to the second floor instead." He paused, looking at Tom hesitantly. "You did tell us to keep an eye on her."

"So I did." The possibility of finding out where Astraya had been going each night – possibly even what she had been doing with Dumbledore – made his muscles tighten with anticipation. Eagerness evident in his voice, he demanded, "And then what? Did you find out where she was going?"

"I followed her all the way to the seventh floor." Nott seemed more confident now that he knew Tom was interested in what he had to say. "I was afraid she'd catch me so I stayed far behind – just close enough that I could see her, but then…" He paused again. The look he cast at Tom this time was one of fear. "She disappeared."

"What do you mean, she disappeared?" Was he that dim? Had he made that whole story up so he'd give Tom a plausible excuse for his absence? One he knew that Tom couldn't resist hearing? "Nott," he said calmly. Everyone of his group flinched. They knew that tone. "If you don't tell me what happened truthfully, you'll only make things worse for yourself. I am not in a forgiving mood tonight."

"I-it's not a lie," he sputtered. "She disappeared. I tailed her to the seventh floor, but when I got there, she'd gone. I looked for her, but I couldn't find her anywhere. She couldn't have gone down from the seventh floor, without my seeing her, but I still looked for her on every floor. I even checked in the library. She wasn't there."

Nott's tale sounded improbable, but a murky suspicion formed in Tom's mind. "She disappeared on the seventh floor?"

"My Lord," Rosier interjected. "That was also where we lost her last time. The night we tried to capture her."

"Yes, it was, wasn't it?" Tom murmured. His excitement had morphed into rage. So not only had she discovered that secret room, but she'd been frequenting it like she had every right to do so.

Nott was looking at Rosier in confusion, as if he'd forgotten all about that miserable incident at the start of term. Back then, Tom had made the mistake of going to confront Astraya alone. He wasn't someone to make a mistake twice.

"We're going to the seventh floor," he announced suddenly. "We're going to wait in the corridor where she disappeared until she comes out of whatever secret hole she's hiding in." He glanced at Nott. "It was the corridor with the tapestry of the dancing trolls, wasn't it?"

He nodded rapidly.

"We're going to split up and wait for her at each end of the corridor. Should she emerge at any moment, I want you all to stun her. As powerfully and quickly as you can, understood?" Five heads nodded instantly.

Tom could now hear Dippet giving his closing speech, sending candy-stuffed students to their beds. "Let's go," he commanded.

The noise erupted behind them just as they reached the second floor, as students spilled out from the Great Hall to their respective common rooms. Tom walked in long, brisk strides, going as fast as he could without actually running, taking the stairs two at a time, forcing his friends to do the same. When he finally stepped onto the seventh-floor corridor, he was out of breath, but when he spoke to his friends his voice didn't betray any hint of breathlessness.

"You three," – he pointed a finger at Rosier and swept it to the right to include Lestrange and Nott – "You will stay and wait here. I want Sader to be cornered when she finally comes out. Mulciber, Avery, you're with me."

Nott looked somewhat relieved. No doubt he wouldn't have liked spending the time waiting for Sader with him.

Tom ducked into an empty classroom at the other end of the corridor with Avery and Mulciber, while the others hid around the corner. As the minutes stretched out, Tom wished he had a watch to keep track of the time. He knew Rosier had one, as did Lestrange. Costly, engraved family heirlooms. Tom envied them more than he'd ever care to admit. The watches' polished faces always seemed to taunt him. A screaming reminder of everything he didn't have – everything he should have. And now that he knew he was a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, that he came from a family who had passed down Salazar's heirlooms from generation to another, that reminder made him more bitter than ever.

"My Lord," Mulciber muttered from behind. Tom glanced at him sharply. The boy hesitated but carried on. "Didn't you notice that Nott was acting strange?"

Tom's eyes narrowed as he contemplated the sudden question, but didn't speak.

Avery joined the conversation. "He didn't call you 'My Lord' once. Normally he can't say it enough. And it's not like him to wander anywhere but the common room or the Great Hall willingly, let alone follow Sader and look for her through the whole school."

Tom let that sink in. They were both right. He had been so excited at the prospect of getting the upper hand on Astraya once again that he had paid attention to Nott's out-of-character behaviour. It was not like him. The way Astraya kept worming her way into his mind disturbed him.

He was yanked out of his thoughts when the sound of running footsteps and shouting came from around the corner where Rosier, Lestrange and Nott were hiding. Then, a flash of the red light which recognisably belonged to a Stunning Spell, the dull thud of something hitting the ground, and all went quiet again.

Tom bolted upright, his wand gripped tightly. He stepped out into the corridor cautiously, wand pointing outward. Avery and Mulciber did similarly, though they were noticeably cowed. He waited for someone emerge from the corner, Sader, perhaps, or one of his own friends. When there was no detectable movement, he whirled to face the two boys cowering behind him, to tell them that if they didn't stop acting like snivelling dogs and go to investigate what had happened, they were going to spend their night under the influence of Crucio.

But before he could voice the threat, Nott was hurtling towards them, his expression wildly panicked.

"M-My Lord," he sputtered, using the title as if he'd heard what Avery had said. "I-it's Sader. She appeared from one of the empty classrooms in the other corridors and took off running. Rosier and Lestrange tried to catch her, but she stunned them both and went running in the direction of the Astronomy Tower."

"And you didn't follow her?" Anger and excitement warred in Tom's voice. He'd deal with Nott later. Right now, all he cared about was Sader. "We're going to the Astronomy Tower. She can't stun all four of us. Hold your wands at the ready."

He went ahead of them, knowing they would follow. His heart was racing with anticipation, his chest rising and falling rapidly. But he had only taken five steps forwards before the corridor before him disappeared, and thick white mist rose up all around him. He could barely see one step in front of him, his vision clouded with white. "What the –"

Red light flashed faintly through the haze. Cursing, he hissed, " Purgo."

The mist disappeared as if it had never been there at all. And Tom found himself facing the point of Nott's wand, who was standing a few feet away, wearing an expression of amused condescension that only one person in the school had ever dared direct at him.

" Sader," he breathed, eyes widening. He raised his wand, but it was too late.

"Stupefy."

Red light exploded across his vision.

Tom tries to raise his head with difficulty. His skull felt like it was made of iron, and black spots danced in front of him as he opened his heavy eyelids. A groan escaped involuntarily.

"Finally awake, Riddle?"

That voice…

He blinked several times to clear his vision. His head was pounding, as if nails were being hammered into his heavy skull, shooting lances of pain down his spine. He tried to lift an arm, but it wouldn't move.

And neither could he.

His vision finally cleared, and he was able to lift his head. His eyes immediately found triumphant green ones.

"Hello, Riddle," Astraya drawled.

Tom looked down, examining his situation. He was seated on a wide iron chair, his legs were secured to the chair's front legs, his arms similarly tied to the armrests. No, not tied, he realised. What restrained him was a sticky, amber-like substance, in wide bands around his forearms and ankles, and even around his chest, keeping him immobile against the chair's back. He tugged his arms and jerked his legs with all his might, writhing like a worm, knowing he must look absolutely pathetic to Astraya, but he needed to know how strong those bonds were. He finally stilled when he realised that they were rock-hard even if they looked malleable, and that the chair he was bound to itself was sturdy and immoveable. The amber substance had grown while he was struggling, creeping to his elbows and up his legs. The wide band around his chest had reached his shoulders, rendering him almost completely immobile.

"It grows when you struggle. It's going to keep growing anyway but it will take many hours before it covers your whole body, including your head. If you squirm, you'll only make it grow faster."

The rage registered slowly, prickling at his skin, seeping through muscle and tissue to trickle into his blood. It seared through his veins and exploded with ferocious heat behind his ribs. Red misted his vision as fury blazed behind his eyes. His body was on fire with it, trembling with it, and his teeth were bared in a snarl.

Briefly, through the angry red haze on his eyes, he saw Astraya's smug expression falter slightly as she absorbed the rage on his face. But her expression soon shifted to grim determination, unwavering and confident. The same serious gleam she'd had in her eyes the night they'd met, when he'd threatened her and she had in turn warned him not to mess with her.

"I warned you not to mess with me, Riddle," Astraya said quietly, as if reading his thoughts. "I told you that you were no match for me, but you thought you were invincible." A faint, wry smile touched her lips. "I underestimated you, at first, I admit. You surprised me that first duel." She shrugged. "But in the end, I was right, you are no match for me."

The words made the rage inside him flare violently, working it to such intensity Tom wondered how it had not consumed whole. Sader pushed away from the wall she'd been leaning against, striding toward with a swagger born of victory. She put one hand on his gently, almost consolingly, and leaned in, lifting his face up to hers with her wand under his chin. Their noses almost touched. Their eyes met; his black, angry and feral, hers green, triumphant and condescending.

"You lost, Riddle," she taunted in a whisper. The point of her wand under his chin felt playful, almost like a caress, instead of digging into his flesh painfully. "Your friends are all back in their beds, oblivious. I erased their memories and sent them on their way, except for Nott, I couldn't be bothered with him." Her fingers rested on the back of his hand, gently brushing back and forth. He'd clenched his fist so tightly around the armrest his knuckles were bone-white. "That was rather nice of me. You wouldn't want them to remember your little humiliation tonight, would you?"

The rage dimmed a touch as a lucid thought penetrated the red haze clouding his mind and shrouding his eyesight. He took deep breaths. He needed to calm down. He needed to think. His body was still vibrating with anger, but his mind finally calmed enough for him to grasp onto that one clear thought.

"Nott," he finally managed when he trusted himself to speak without snarling. His voice was brittle. "What did you do to him? Was it the Imperius Curse?"

She raised one black eyebrow in a perfect arch. That gleam in her feline eyes, a blend of amusement and condescension. He'd seen that expression just before he'd been stunned.

On Nott's face.

" Polyjuice," he breathed.

Astraya feigned an impressed look. "Wow. I thought you'd never figure it out, but I guess I underestimated you again." Her words dripped with mockery.

Tom didn't reply. He struggled to wrestle his temper under control, to not let the rage cloud his mind again even though it still simmered under his skin. His eyes dipped down to where Astraya's wand poked into the soft skin under his chin, then to where her fingers rested with deceptive lightness on the back of his hand. He met her gaze again, unsettled by how close their faces were. He should yank his face away from hers, but something held him still as he stared at her. Defeat, perhaps. Or anger. He liked anger more.

"Where am I?" he asked tightly.

"On the seventh floor. The room where I hid last time your friends tried to capture me."

Despite the obvious relish with which she spoke, her words didn't bother him as they should have. The skin on the back of his hand was burning where she touched it. His body was heated with…anger. It had to be anger.

But he didn't feel particularly angry. He was looking at her lips as she spoke, watching the way they moved, how they shaped each word, how they curved upward in an insolent grin. Their colour was a pleasing pink, and their texture looked very soft. As soft as her throat had been when he'd wrapped his hand around it. The distance between them was so short, that if he stretched out his tongue, he'd find out exactly how soft her lips were.

That sudden, irrelevant thought alarmed him enough that he jerked his face away. Astraya's wand was withdrawn, and so was her hand. But there was still that suspicious tingling where she'd touched him. He resolved not to think overmuch on it.

That small motion of jerking his head had made the amber-like substance expand so that it covered his shoulders completely, while the bands around his forearms had reached his wrists.

He glanced up. Astraya had retreated to the door. Her face was disturbed. Tom had the feeling it mirrored his own expression.

"What now?" He thanked both Salazar and Merlin that none of the alarm at his own thoughts showed in his tone.

There was a strange flicker in her eyes, a hint of a pucker between her brows, then her face melted into arrogance again.

"Now," she drawled, and Tom was relieved to feel a flare of anger at her condescending, taunting tone, "I leave you here, and find out how long it takes for that stuff to cover your whole head and kill you."

With one last smirk, she slipped outside. Tom couldn't even hear her footsteps over the roar in his ears. The red haze had returned, and this time, he embraced it, letting it wash over him.