Huffily Puffily || Golden Trio

Tom Marvolo Riddle || xlviv

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She awoke to the feeling of cold, wet stone on her cheek. And for a beautiful moment, there was nothing, nothing but the fleeting moment of oblivion between sleeping and consciousness.

She wished she could remain there forever, but as soon as her eyes fluttered open, all her senses came rushing back to her. Tremors wracked her body, her little heart pounding furiously in her rib cage. Her muscles refused to stay still; they twitched and shook as if they were still being assaulted by the Cruciatus curse, and her head throbbed worse than it ever had before.

But worst of all— the most intense pain— was the sting of betrayal in her chest, burning more with every passing moment.

Voldemort.

How was he Voldemort? Why was he Voldemort? The boy who killed Flint and Pucey in front of her was something she never could have conceived. Tom was calm and tactical. Torturing and killing three people in a fit of rage was not like him. And yet, he'd done it. He'd cast the Killing Curse as if it was the most natural act in the world, and he'd laughed about it. Those boys' lifeless bodies dropping to the floor sent a tidal wave of nausea over her.

She clamped a hand over her mouth, feeling like she was going to throw up. She remembered the smell of the room; not from their bodies, but from the Killing Curse. It had reeked of death, and the smell lingered. It stuck to the inside of her lungs.

Voldemort.

Why... Why did he have to be Voldemort? She thought of everything he told her, and in return, everything she told him. He'd been so interested in Voldemort. Appraising him lightly, but not enough for her to find it particularly suspicious. He'd been so horrified to find out about Lord Voldemort's fall from power; he'd been disgusted by it.

Oh god... She'd let Voldemort near Harry Potter. She told Voldemort about how Harry Potter brought about his defeat, twice. She couldn't believe she hadn't already gotten everyone killed.

It wasn't as if she wasn't used to being in dangerous situations. But this one was different. This was personal. She cared about Tom; he knew some of her deepest secrets, and in return, she thought he cared about her, too.

She sucked in a deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut. Her eyes burned with tears, and she had to fight them back. She had to get a hold of herself. She had to get out of here. Shakily, she tried to push herself off the ground.

She got on one knee to push herself up with her hand, when a cold grip clamped down on her shoulder, gently pushing her back down. "Don't bother," a calm voice said. She opened her eyes, staring at the ground. She saw a familiar set of legs out of the corner of her eye.

Slowly, she pulled her gaze up to face him. Face Voldemort.

He tilted his head as he stared down at her. His face was void of any emotion. He crouched in front her to meet her eye level. He said nothing, just staring.

She remembered how many times that same face had smiled at her and told her stories, and she tried not to collapse again then and there.

"Voldemort," she uttered, testing out the words again. "You're Voldemort." Her voice cracked at the end. Whether it was out of emotion or because her throat was shot from screaming, she couldn't decide.

Tom reached forward and plucked a cobweb out of her hair. She flinched backward slightly at the movement, but he simply flicked it off into the distance. When he turned back to her, his previously blank eyes were full of wonder. Excitement.