Darkness and Devotion - A Tom Riddle Story

The Dancers

Five days later, Evelyn and the boys were back at Hogwarts. Sirius stayed the night with them and she enjoyed eating breakfast with her uncle. Later that afternoon, Sirius left, saying he had to go back and be with his godson but Evelyn wondered if he was actually tired of the daggers Tom had been staring into the side of his head for hours. He apparently did not like to share her attentions, something he made more than clear when he kept her up all night trying to make up for it.

The more time she spent with him, the more she felt that bond grow, that cord in the center of her chest strengthen. What was once a soft, golden string had now become a black rope, constantly pulling her to him, driving their souls to be together. Now, as Evelyn got ready for the ball in her room, she felt a slight pain in her chest just from being apart from him.

You might kill her if you leave her side for too long. That was what Sirius said. Her own magic wasn't strong enough to fight it. But how long was "too long"? Weeks? Days? Hours? 

She didn't want to test it and Tom wouldn't let her anyway. It was already a pain to convince him to give her two hours to herself to get ready. And though she believed that a part of Tom was worried about paining her, Evelyn knew that this clinginess was just the result of Tom loving her. He cared about very little in this life. Now that he had chosen her, he wouldn't give her up easily. He didn't want to be apart from her purely because he loved her. Two hours, to him, felt like an eternity.

So she smiled as he begged her to let her get ready with him. "You've spent weeks away from me. What's the difference now?" she had asked.

"I'm not ready to leave you alone just yet" he murmured. Not yet. Because they both knew that he would have to go back to hunting the Death Eaters. Tom was asking for what little time he had.

Evelyn just kissed his cheek and went back to her dorm to get ready. 

The Hogmanay Ball was a tradition started after the year Voldemort died. The professors believed that the halls needed some happiness so they decided to hold a ball every five years on New Year's Eve, named after the Scottish celebration. They would dance until midnight to mark the dawn of a new year, another one without fear. Evelyn was only a second year when the last one happened but she never would have imagined going at all, much less with the son of the wizard whose death they were hailing.

But there was also another reason to celebrate: Tom's birthday.

He hadn't told it her when it was but it was surprisingly easy to bribe a thirteen-year-old into telling her stuff when all she needed was a few sickles. It was the same date as their father's: December 31st. Because Voldemort was determined to make his son into his spitting image, even down to the day. Evelyn frowned when she heard it—Tom was his own person, not his father's to mold—but resolved to make it a day of love.

"Are you almost done, Little Dove? We're already late." Like Tom cared about being late. He was probably reveling in the fact that they would have to spend less time there. "Yes, but I'm not reveling in the fact that you're not with me so hurry up."

"So bossy." But she smiled.

Evelyn pinned back a few strands of her curled, dark hair. It was in an updo with several of the curls hanging down. To be honest, she left it somewhat messy like that for Tom, knowing his fingers would ache to pull on the hanging locks. Knowing that she would like it if he did.

Her makeup was simple. It was always simple; she was never very good at doing it. Plain skin with a little bronzer to carve her cheeks, thin black eyeliner to go with the mascara, and nude lips with a little gloss. But even though her makeup was simple and her hair nothing special, Evelyn felt beautiful.