Astraya's mood was more cheerful than it had been for weeks as she strolled into the dim, quiet Entrance Hall. The day being a Saturday – and after the excitement of last night's Hallowe'en feast – most students were still abed and would likely stay there a while. It wasn't a Hogsmeade weekend, after all.
It was close to seven in the morning, yet the sun had just started to peek over the horizon, its light weak and white as it slowly crept across the Black Lake. The dawn was shy, sluggishly lightening the indigo sky into a watery blue-grey. Thin slivers of light leaked through the windows, but the halls remained dim and shadowy.
Astraya felt energized, in spite of her lack of sleep. She had had a long list of things to be done last night. It had taken her a long time to revive Riddle's followers, then erase and modify their memories. She'd considered leaving their memories intact, so that Riddle would have to contend with the fact that his followers witnessed his humiliation. But this little war was between Astraya and Riddle, and she did not want to involve anyone else any more than necessary. It was strange that this rivalry between them had become something private, something she didn't want to share. But she had chalked it up to the fact that the more people that were involved, the more complications that would appear, and then dismissed the thought entirely.
After she had left Riddle to stew in his helpless rage, she had descended through the numerous stairwells to the dungeons, where she had changed back into her own robes, then set out to deal with Nott. The boy was still hidden in his broom closet, unconscious. Just as she had done with his friends, she woke him and modified his memory, making sure it was compatible with the false memories she had planted into the others' minds. All of them would have the same recollection of Hallowe'en. Only Riddle would know the truth.
Cleaning up the equipment she had used to brew her Polyjuice Potion was a long and tedious task that took close to an hour. And once that was done, there was still the most important task left, the one she had gone to all this trouble for: destroying that necklace.
She still didn't know who had planted it in her trunk and frankly, by this point, didn't care. She needed to get rid of it before Riddle could get a hold of it again. She had rifled through his mind with Legilimens while he was still stunned, and while she wasn't patriculary skilled at Legilimency, she was good enough to conclude that he hadn't discovered its meaning, to her relief. Nor would he. He wouldn't find so much as a clue even in Hogwarts' expansive library. It wasn't something many wizards wrote about. Or even knew of.
She spent some time leafing through the book she had stolen from him first, thinking there might be some spell there to help. She couldn't deny that she was also curious. Secrets of the Darkest Art, the title read. The book was heavy and large, bound in faded black leather. As she flipped page after page, she wondered at how Riddle had come in possession of the book. She knew that similar works could be found in the crooked, unsavoury streets of Knockturn Alley, but she doubted that Riddle would be able to afford them. Books as dark as this cost an arm and a leg. She should know.
That left the Restricted section of the Hogwarts library. She was astonished that such a book was kept in Hogwarts, even if it was in the Restricted Section. There was a fair share of grisly books in there, but this was on an altogether different level. She even found a whole chapter devoted to Horcruxes, objects that are used to store a piece of a person's soul. More importantly, she found several destructive curses that might prove useful.
In the end, though, she hadn't needed any of them.
In the darkness of the Forbidden Forest, Astraya had once again tried to destroy that blasted thing. Surprisingly, it turned out to be much easier than last time. Confringo immediately did the trick. Apparently, when she had melted it with Fiendfyre and Riddle restored it, whatever protective charms that had been placed on it had shattered and Riddle, it seemed, hadn't bothered using any.
Once there was nothing left of the damn thing but ash and dust, Astraya felt as if an enormous knot had loosened inside her. By then, it was deep into the night, and all the exhaustion of the day burst through the dam that had held it back. Her shoulders slumped, and her steps were heavy and sluggish. She tripped more than once on the gnarly roots protruding from the earth like skeletal claws. She hadn't been sleeping well for weeks, kept awake by worry and her own obsessive planning. And last night she had got an hour or two of sleep at the most.
Now that she achieved the goal that she'd been working towards all that time, fatigue finally overwhelmed her, and she collapsed at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, in sight of the castle. She knew she should get up and head back to the castle, but her bones were made of lead, and her eyelids were heavy and drooping. She slumped against a thick tree trunk, the bark rough and scratchy at her back, facing away from the castle. The tree was wide enough that it concealed her completely. Even still, a rational part of her brain wasn't overcome with exhaustion yet, and she concealed herself with a Disillusionment Charm, then a Shield Charm, to protect her from the creatures in the forest. Though she was far enough to the edge of the forest that she doubted many werewolves or centaurs would come close, and her exhausted state made her spells clumsy.
She had fallen asleep the moment she closed her eyes, but she was woken only a few hours later by the persistent tap-tap of a woodpecker on the narrower part of the tree above her. Astraya rubbed her eyes while her mouth gaped open in a yawn. She caught the bright red patch of the bird's head flashing back and forth above her as it carved out its winter roost.
Her mouth giving another wide yawn, she stood, swatting the back of her robes with her hand to remove the dust and soil and brushing off crumpled leaves stuck to the fabric. Her impromptu nap had left her body sore and her joints stiff. Yet it had left her in exceedingly good spirits and an odd sense of energy. The thought of Riddle alone, bound and helpless, was enough to send a surge of joy through her so strong it warmed her against the cold morning air.
She was almost singing as she strolled along the dungeon corridor and slipped into the Slytherin common room. Her dormitory was quiet as a grave, and the motionless bodies on the four-poster did nothing to dispel the notion. She'd had to return to the dorm before she went to confront Riddle last night and assure the girls that she was alright. When she'd returned later, she found all of them passed out on their beds in positions so awkward she'd grimaced in vicarious discomfort.
She had thought to make use of the remaining hours of early morning to catch some more sleep, but with the triumphant energy coursing through her she found she was not sleepy in the slightest. Additionally, there was one more she needed to take care of. So after she had washed and changed into fresh robes, she set out from the dungeons for the seventh floor.
She had not lied to Riddle. The amber substance would keep growing, spreading across his arms and legs until it covered his whole body. When that happened, of course, he would suffocate. Its growth was extremely slow, however, so long as Riddle did not squirm too much and speed up the process, which she doubted. Perhaps he was oversure of himself, but he wasn't stupid. He had to have seen that she wasn't bluffing.
She was bluffing though, to an extent. The substance would spread until it killed him, if it was left unchecked, but she'd charmed it so that it would cease growing once it reached Riddle's nose, leaving him able to breathe, and at the same time causing him no small amount of panic. The image of Riddle panicked and powerless, wondering how much time he had until he suffocated to death made her gleeful, even if it did cause a strange, sharp twinge in her chest. It had to be guilt. She wasn't a good person, not even close, but she didn't delight in cruelty. Not always at least, even if it did come to her naturally.
She finally reached the corridor of the hidden room. She still hadn't found any information about that mysterious room, only that no-one seemed to know of it – except Riddle, of course. She'd ventured to ask Dumbledore once, in their Occlumency lessons, but he hadn't had any information to offer either. But he did tell her an odd story about a time when he needed to go to the toilet, and found a room filled with chamber pots of every size and shape. He'd never managed to find it again.
Chamber pots for someone who needed to relieve themselves…a place for her to hide from Riddle's followers…the antidote for the Befuddlement Draught… It did not take her much effort to realize that it provided whatever the seeker needed, and some tedious experiments on the seventh floor had revealed to her how the room could be accessed.
Bearing in mind that Riddle had been angry when he found that she had discovered his hidden special room, which he likely used for a series of malevolent misdeeds, she'd decided that it would make the perfect trap for him. And it had. He had come running, with his lackeys in tow. And after she had disposed of them, she had made use of the room once again to hold their unconscious…master.
No delusions about whether he considered them their friends – or they him – remained. My Lord, they called him, she remembered with derision, as the hidden door appeared before her.
The room that had appeared for last night was vast and empty, save for a heavy, wide chair of black metal that was bolted to the floor. Chains and manacled hung on the walls too, and imagining Riddle dangling helplessly from there had delighted her, but she'd settled for the practicality of the chair instead.
It was there she found Riddle, just as she'd left him last night. The amber-like substance had spread overnight to envelop the entirety of the chair – and Riddle, who was bound to it, in a sticky cocoon. It had crawled up his neck and across his mouth, effectively gagging him. But it had stopped before it could reach his nose, as she had enchanted it to.
The spell itself was one she'd never put into use before, though she'd practised it many times before she got it right. It was neither a charm or a curse, but something in between, and depending on the caster and the use, it was not especially harmful.
She leaned against the wall facing Riddle casually, her lips curving into a devilish smirk as she watched him. He didn't appear to have slept a wink last night – not that she had expected him to. Faint purple half-moons were painted under his eyes. His eyes themselves, however, did not look tired, black with rage as they were, like some terrible storm. He couldn't speak, but there was a promise of terrible retribution in his silent glare.
"Don't look at me like that now, Riddle," she teased. "What if I made you forget all of this, like I did with your friends? You wouldn't be able to get back at me for something you can't remember."
She watched as the threat hit home, his eyebrows slashing down angrily as black fire blazed behind slitted eyes. His rage, useless as it was, sent a shiver of excitement rolling through her. She pushed off the wall and stalked toward the chair as she continued to taunt him.
"You wouldn't remember a single thing," she said when she stopped in front of him, her voice dropping to a silky whisper, "while I laugh at you behind your back and remember how pathetic and helpless you looked, cocooned in this thing like some little worm."
Even immobilised as he was, she could see his body vibrating with pent-up rage. His face was a terrible mask of wrath that would have sent many people fleeing. Had he been free, with his wand, his anger would have been something to behold, even for her. But he wasn't. He was completely at her mercy.
She watched his expression carefully as she reached into her pocket and drew out his wand. Twirling it between her finger playfully, she said, "Your wand feels nearly as good as mine, you know." She tapped his forehead with the tip. It hadn't been her intention to taunt him like this, but she couldn't make herself stop. She'd worked toward this for so long. "Maybe I'll keep it. You weren't very good at using it anyway, seeing as you ended up like this." She paused. "Or maybe that's more to do with how you weren't using your brain properly, rather than your wand."
She nearly cackled at the murderous look on his face. He would murder her if he got the chance, she was certain. Perhaps as soon as she set him free. But she felt reckless in way she rarely – if ever – was, drunk on the feeling of absolute power. After so many weeks of feeling powerless and ashamed, the feeling was as heady as wine. Almost euphoric.
That intoxicating sense of control died slowly when she saw a tremor run across the amber cocoon. Her eyes shot up to Riddle's. The fury was as bright as any flame, but there was a cold determination there as well.
She backed away a step, but kept his own wand pointed at his temple. She doubted he'd actually be able to break free, but that slight tremor pulled her back from that high, reckless cliff. Her head cleared, and her self-preservation instincts kicked in.
"Immobulus."
Only once she was sure he was safely under the effect of the Freezing Charm did she say, "Tegmine Deleo."
The substance slowly receded, crawling away from his neck and peeling back from his legs and arms, shrinking to no more than a few sticky globules, before it dispersed entirely, leaving Riddle immobilised only by the Freezing Charm. His mouth was pressed into a line so thin his lips weren't visible. It would be easier for him to break this spell – if he even could. She herself had a strong control over her wandless magic when she was feeling a particularly powerful emotion – like the rage Riddle was feeling right now – but magic without a wand was tenuous at best, and often it would cause no more than thin cracks in a spell, almost imperceptible.
She tossed his wand to the ground next to his feet, and she could that her carelessness with it had hit home as well. His little finger twitched, but he was nowhere close to regaining full mobility.
Her expression was serious when she next spoke. She needed him to know that she meant every word. After today, he would take her more seriously than he ever had before, but that didn't mean that he would give up and leave her alone. Not that she wanted him to anymore.
That surprised her. She'd come to Hogwarts hoping she might find some measure of peace, and instead had found Tom Riddle, who had made her realise that maybe peace wasn't what she had needed. What she truly needed was a challenge, a fight that had nothing to do with her past. She needed action amidst the tedium of studies, she needed to act so that she could forget.
And she had forgotten. If it weren't for that necklace in her trunk, she wouldn't have thought about her life before Hogwarts at all.
"I know you're already plotting your revenge, Riddle," she told him quietly. "But I suggest you tread carefully. As much as I enjoy our little game, I have my boundaries. You crossed them a month ago, and you ended up here. You'd better not cross them again." It was his mouth that twitched now, and she couldn't stifle her smirk. "There must be a lot of things you'd like to say, but I'm afraid I'll have to pass. I need to get another hour of sleep before breakfast, which you'll probably miss. It'll take a few hours before the Freezing Charm wears off."
Giving him another provoking smirk – in spite of her best judgement – she kicked at his wand, sending it rolling across the floor. He twitched again.
"I'll see you later, Tom." With a little wave, she slipped out into the corridor, leaving him nearly as helpless as she had left him last night.
Tom had been easy to anger since he was a child. His explosive temper had been left mostly unrestrained while at the orphanage, and he'd had no qualm about releasing it onto whoever was unfortunate enough to anger him, with little to no worry over the consequences. That had changed when he got accepted into Hogwarts. Then, he was forced to behave immaculately and rein in his temper lest Dumbledore catch a whiff of any misdeed. It didn't pose any difficulty for him; he'd always been able to charm people and gain their trust. He could be patient when he needed to, as tedious as that could be. He developed more subtle ways of getting back at people who annoyed and angered him, ways that Dumbledore wouldn't suspect – or at least, wouldn't be able to trace back to him.
But never, in all his life, had he ever felt angry like this.
Anger seemed too plain a word to describe the feelings writhing within him. It was as if a vicious, infernal beast had been unleashed, clawing and hissing and roaring inside him, spitting great balls of flame until Tom felt he was about to explode with rage. An explosion so great that it would blast Astraya Sader to pieces where she stood. Tom liked that picture, and so did the beast, as it writhed and twisted to be set free.
When the Freezing Charm eventually wore off, Tom's body was shaking with powerful tremors, and that red veil had fallen back over his eyes, as red as blood. Sader's blood. There was nothing he would have like more than seeing her drowning in a pool of it. He was already listing every disembowelment curse he knew, using the grisly images to feed that hungry beast.
He could scarcely stand, his legs nearly folding underneath him. His body was stiff from being stuck in the same position for long hours, and with how badly he was trembling in his haze of bloodlust, he barely had any control over his limbs. Yet they still carried him one step, and then another, and another, to where his wand was lying. Recalling how carelessly Sader had kicked it, as if it were no more than the dirt beneath her feet, finally unleashed that beast, who let out a roar so loud Tom swore he heard it ringing through his ears.
His wand was in his hand, though he couldn't recall picking it up. He couldn't even discern the spells he was using, but then that chair was caught up in an explosion of flame, until there was nothing left but ashes, and the chains dangling from the walls were blown apart to shatter into a hundred tiny fragments. He was barely aware that some of them had caught his face, leaving a dozen scratches on his cheeks. All he felt was that raging fire inside him, and all he saw was red.
When at last his wand dropped to his side, he was breathless. His chest rose and fell hard as he drew in big gulps of air, and the tremors rolling through him had not lessened. Nor had his fury. But the destruction he'd wreaked on the room that had been his overnight prison had helped cleanse his mind somewhat, purging the worst of his anger. He became aware of the dull throbbing on his cheeks, and when he touched it he felt the tiny ridges of fresh cuts, though no blood appeared on his fingers.
He healed the cuts with a scowl, then looked around the room. Debris littered the floor. There were a few scorch marks on the walls, and one where the chair had stood. Miniscule metal fragments crunched under his feet. He took care of that too, sweeping the shattered pieces away with a wave of his wand, the wiping the black scorch marks on the walls. After those were cleared away, he realised he'd made a crater in the floor as well. Another wave of his wand filled the hole, while he hoped the damage he had done would not impair the functioning of the room, even though lately it had done him more ill than good.
He'd never been done anything so…thoughtless. Then again, he'd never been so angry before. Sader had hit every nerve he possessed, each blow of hers falling on him with remarkable accuracy. Even now, the rage bubbled under his skin, a blaze that got hotter and hotter until he had to grasp onto his clarity of mind with both hands.
It was a long time before he emerged from that hidden room, dressed in the rumpled clothes he'd worn yesterday, his hair out of place, his face stony. He had to conceal himself with a Disillusionment Charm while he took the stairs to the dungeons. It would not do for anyone to catch him so far away from Slytherin quarters so early, and in his current state.
Students had begun to wake from their slumber, drifting out of their dormitories to the Great Hall in sleepy twos or threes. Drowsy chatter filled the Entrance Hall, lit only by the weak white light slithering through the heavy clouds that hovered outside, heralding another day of rain.
He yanked away the Disillusionment Charm when he set foot in his room. His friends, in various states of dress, all halted and directed surprised gazes at him.
Rosier recovered himself first. "My Lord." He hesitated. "We worried when you didn't return after you left after the feast."
He was silent for enough time to make Rosier shift his feet. His nervousness was palpable when Tom pointed his wand at his face, but Tom said only, "Legilimens."
Rosier's mind was his favourite to penetrate when he practised Legilimency, the least chaotic and the strongest. He had a natural grasp on Occlumency, because of his detached manner and controlled emotions. But he didn't fight him now, sensing that Tom wanted to find something out.
Tom searched shortly until he found Rosier's memory of last night. In his mind, Tom had said he had something to do after they'd left the feast. He'd spilt up from the group after they were joined by Nott, who'd explained that he was sick and had to go to the hospital wing. Then Tom and his friends had gone their separate ways.
He pulled out of Rosier's mind, exchanging it for Nott's instead. Nott's mind was nearly as ordered as Rosier's, but not nearly as strong. In Nott's memory, he had been sick before the feast, and had gone to the hospital wing where Madam Rosebridge had given him a potion to settle his stomach.
He returned to reality, trying to stop the anger from rising to its previous destructive proportions. He needed to keep a clear head.
His followers stood silent around him. Rosier and Nott were pale from the invasion of their minds, their lips were pressed together as they tried to return from the flood of memories Tom had brought forward. All of them knew better than to ask questions.
Astraya had done well. Just like she'd wanted, he wouldn't try to recall any of their original memories. Some things are better forgotten and last night's debacle was one of them. He couldn't even punish Nott now, because the boy wouldn't even remember what he'd done wrong. This incident, though, had proved that he had slacked in Nott's training – in all of their training. He would need to teach them more, push them harder, so they would not be so easy for Sader to take out.
"Go to the Great Hall," he commanded them. Avery flinched at the tense note of anger in his voice. "I'll join you when I can." They filed out without another word.
As he went to grab fresh robes from his trunk, something niggled at him. He started removing things, making sure everything was where it was supposed to be. It didn't take him long to discover that his book was gone. As was Astraya's necklace. His hands clenched on the battered edge of his trunk, itching to pull out his wand in another fit of destructive rage.
But he couldn't allow that to happen again. He needed to hold back the rage and ponder his next step, ponder how he was going to punish Sader for all this.
Violent urges were not new to him, but this was the first time in his life where he contemplated killing someone in all seriousness. He wouldn't do it with a simple Killing Curse, no, that would be too easy for her. He'd have to at least give her a thorough experience with the Cruciatus Curse first. Then maybe he would put some of those disembowelment curses to use. The thought of her screaming in pain almost made grin. Then, if she was still alive after that, he would kill her. He could even get her to beg for mercy before he did it – or for death.
His gruesome fantasies drained most of the violence out of him. By the time he was dressed, he felt much more himself and in control. He would go to breakfast, then he would sit down to plan Astraya Sader's downfall.
All his newfound control nearly went up in flames when he caught sight of her, laughing without a care in the world. She was standing at the base of the marble staircase in the Entrance Hall with two of her friends, her face radiant, her eyes bright. Once she spotted him, however, the merriment slowly bled away from her face, giving way to suspicion and caution. He gave her a long clear look and a nudge of his chin, indicating that she follow him, before retreating to one of the empty classrooms nearby.
She came moments later, her face as tense as it had been smug this morning. Her wand was clasped loosely between her fingers, and she did not seem afraid as much as wary. His own wand was tucked away in his pocket. He did not mean to exact his revenge here.
Her eyes widened as he grabbed her arm and slammed her against the wall, kicking the door shut. His fingers dug into the soft skin under her neck, hard enough to bruise. She was thrown off only for a moment before her expression went cold and hard, and her wand pointed in his face.
"What did we talk about, Riddle?"
He ignored the dry condescension, and gritted, "I am going to kill you."
His voice came out exactly how he wanted it: cold, controlled and dangerous. Something flickered across Astraya's face, but she still showed no outward sign of fear.
He let an ugly smile twist his face. "I just wanted to let you know. I am going to kill you, and it's not going to be a simple, quick death for you, no." His fingers pressed into her throat, feeling the ripple of her swallow against his palm and her quickening pulse. She was afraid. His smile widened. "I plan to make you scream and beg before I kill you. I wonder what you'll sound like when you scream. Of course, your screams may get annoying eventually, in which case I know an excellent tongue-removing spell –"
His speech ended in a hiss of pain. He yanked his hands from her throat, looking at the reddened skin on the back of his hands as it continued to tingle and throb. The point of Astraya's wand stared him in the face when he glanced up. Her hand was steady, but her expression seemed disturbed, if not scared. Her mouth tightened as she levelled her green stare at him.
He straightened, his stinging hands dropping limply to his sides. He didn't bother reaching for his own wand. His eyes, hard and black, pierced into hers, his twisted smile never wavering.
"You've just made your death more painful, Astraya." He didn't know why he had used her first name instead of her last, but it sounded like a threat in his mouth, silky and smooth. Her lips thinned. Tom had the smug feeling that she pressed them together to hide their trembling. He took one step closer to her, and her grip tightened on her wand. "You showed me what you were capable of last night. Well done. Now, it's my turn." He walked to the door. "And unlike you, I won't hesitate when the time comes to put an end to your nuisance of a life."
She didn't say a word as he flung the door open, just stared at him, unblinking and unflinching. He aimed a mockful smile at her, waving a hand at the doorway. "After you."
She released a long, slow breath, finally breaking her gaze. The fact that she'd been holding her breath pleased Tom greatly, as did the way her hand trembled just a little as she slipped her wand back into her robes. The doorway was narrow, and her shoulder brushed against his chest as she passed him. A strange, quiet heat flitted where she'd touched him, baffling him. Had she used a Stinging Hex again?
The door closed softly behind them as they walked away in silence, Tom satisfied that his threats had fully sunk in, and Astraya left stunned in the wake of those threats. They had barely set one foot outside the dungeons when a voice boomed out, startling both of them out of their respective musings.
"Tom, m'boy! And Astraya! I'm glad I caught you together. Come, come." He motioned with his stubby fingers for them to join him where he stood with a small group of students gathered around him.
Tom barely supressed a grimace. Slughorn's glee at having caught him and Astraya together was palpable. The last thing he wanted to do was to play at flattery with the fat fool, whose belly seemed to have but he had no choice. Putting on his signature polite smile, he strode over to the group, Astraya following on his heels. Seven curious pairs of eyes watched them as they approached. Slughorn's group included Cora Greengrass, Rosier, Lestrange, Avery and Walburga and Lucretia Black, both sixth-years.
His followers stepped to the side to give him room, shooting him interested looks that bordered on insolence. Astraya's friend – who Tom knew from their first year to be nosy and annoying – raised her eyebrows at Astraya in question, but she just shrugged and smiled charmingly at Slughorn, who was beaming at her. Tom clenched his teeth. He'd worked his way up to first place in Slughorn's elite posse effortlessly and had maintained that status unchallenged for four years, but Astraya had quickly managed to worm her way to the top. Of late, Slughorn had lavished as much attention on her as he did for Tom, and was beyond delighted when he heard the rumours that his top favourite students might be getting together.
"I was just telling them about the supper I'll be hosting tomorrow night," Slughorn said jovially, gesturing to the students gathered around him. "A little after-Hallowe'en treat for my favourite Slytherins – though it won't compare to our Christmas celebrations, of course, I've already begun planning. You'll come, won't you, my dear boy? And don't tell me you've studying to do, you'll study yourself into an early grave if you don't take a breath every little while." He let out a loud merry laugh. His friends shot him those admiring looks they got when someone praised him. Astraya remained quiet beside him. "Honestly, m'boy, I don't why you bother. Half the staff swear they haven't anything left to teach you."
Greengrass aimed an uncharacteristically shy smile at him as Slughorn chuckled again. He knew that she was attracted to him – as was every girl he'd met – but she'd never been one of the girls who'd worked up the courage to actually ask him out. Lucretia Black was also eyeing him, but like Cora, she'd never openly expressed her interest for different reasons. The Blacks were an ancient family of the noblest blood, and carried themselves with a loftiness that suited their lineage. No doubt Lucretia would not want her parents to catch wind of her consorting with a penniless, half-blood orphan, especially when – as Lestrange had told him – her parents had engaged her to Ignatius Prewett during the holidays, a member of another famous pure-blood family who had graduated Hogwarts two years earlier.
He'd never had any interest in Lucretia – or any of the girls smitten with him – but his poor background rankled him. One day, though, he promised himself, one day everyone would know that he had the noblest blood of all: the blood of Salazar Slytherin. Until then, he would be patient.
So he smiled at Slughorn and said, "I'd be happy to come, sir, as always."
"Good, good." His greedy, gooseberry eyes slid to Astraya. "And you, my dear? You'll love our little gatherings, I'm sure, and of course, I'd love to hear all about your parents…"
The eagerness in his voice was prominent. No doubt he'd love to see what kind of favours he could glean from the Saders by fawning over their only daughter.
Something flitted across Sader's eyes, but she still smiled pleasantly and murmured, "I'd be delighted, sir." But there was a new stiffness in her posture as Slughorn droned on, chattering with Walburga Black teasingly about her betrothal to Orion, her cousin in third-year, then inquiring about the trip Rosier's father had made to Romania with the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation.
Tom remembered the funeral he'd witnessed in Sader's mind weeks ago. Had that been her father's funeral? Or her mother's? It was clear that the mention of her parents upset her. Slughorn wasn't going to get much out of her, though the old fool was relentless when it came to seeking useful connection. Maybe he would even prove useful to Tom. If not, then Tom would make sure he'd get every secret out of Sader before he killed her.
When Slughorn finally ran out of questions and the group dispersed to their various pursuits, Rosier matched his stride to his. "I received an owl from my father, my Lord," he said quietly.
Tom stopped short. He turned slowly to face Rosier. "Did you, now?"
He nodded and pulled out a roll of parchment. "You may read it, of course…but he hasn't written anything of use."
Tom took the offered letter from Rosier, his eyes moving swiftly across the decorative, slanted script. He read it once, then twice, before handing it back to Rosier. "We know now one thing at least."
"My Lord?"
Tom's eyes glittered with malice. "Sader's secrets are even more interesting than I first thought."
He watched as she stepped outside with Greengrass, heedless of the impending rain, her black curls flying about her face as a gust of wind played with them. She'd linked their arms together, and their heads were inclined toward each other as if sharing a secret. Tom watched them stroll through the school grounds, then stroked his wand as a sinister idea sparked to life.
Astraya had gone for Tom's friends in order to get to him. It was only right that he repay the favour in kind.
