Lestrange had been acting strangely. If he was being honest with himself, Tom had expected him to act far differently upon seeing Aurora again art the start of term, especially after the revelation about his own familial ties to Grindelwald, and yet he appeared completely unchanged. That was the strange part.
Part of him wondered if he was simply in denial, believing that Tom had only told his as such to rile him, make the command of splitting them off a little bit easier for him, but another part wondered if the heir was actually as committed to his house's cause as he was expected to be. After all, the death of Leta Lestrange had occurred almost twenty years prior, before he was even born. Could he really be bothered to avenge the death of a woman he never knew, possibly putting the woman he loved at risk had everything been true?
It was a question Tom pondered as he sat watching Lestrange and Aurora conversing over breakfast three weeks into term, just as friendly as they'd always been. As someone who had never known what love truly felt like, he had to ask himself what he thought the answer would be through only things he'd witnessed, the behaviour of those who had.
Not succumbing to the weaknesses love posed was all fun and games until he actually needed some kind of idea of what was going on.
Still, everything seemed eerily normal, which was more unnerving to him than everything being an utter fucking mess. He knew he was still connected to Aurora, given their month long record of going uninterrupted was shattered by a stubbed toe on her end only a few days prior (Seriously, how did one cause that much pain so early in the morning? Has she been attempting to kick a fucking lead football?), but the girl herself seemed entirely calm.
He'd heard whispers of a possible betrothal within the Rosier family circulating, but nothing more than just whispers, and no indication of which sibling either. Naturally, the whole school seemed to have decided it was Aurora who they were finally bargaining off, but Tom knew better, knew it'd be Evan.
He also knew it'd only fuel Aurora's want to set her plan to kill her mother into motion. He was just certain that anything Gueneviere Rosier did to exert her powers as a Lady did was enough to annoy Aurora, and that this would be the final straw, that it was only a matter of days before she came running back to him despite their little spat in the library the first week back.
Yet she held out on him. Another week went, October slowly closing in, and he watched her through every class they shared, from the way she rolled her eyes at Slughorn behind his back, scoffed at Professor Merrythought's lectures on Defence Against the Dark Arts, and looked positively bored throughout Ancient Runes. It was all the exact same.
The only noticeable change, and, in his opinion, the most entertaining, was her plain and obvious disdain for Professor Dumbledore. Where she'd always been somewhat polite to the man, even after the incident with her bird charm last year, she now had no qualms over loudly talking over him in his lessons, or shooting scathing looks every time he so much as opened his mouth to speak. Rather cleverly, she did it under the guise of being irritated over the masses of homework he was setting them in preparation for their N.E.W.Ts. It was a smart move, but Tom saw right through it, and had a feeling Dumbledore did too.
He also had a feeling Aurora knew this as well, but quite frankly didn't give a fuck.
The whole of Britain was looking to the wizard to be the causation for Grindelwald's downfall, and even Tom was beginning to grow tired of the way students looking longingly towards the man every time news of movement stirred the Great Hall at meal times, or whispers of attacks came through from worried parents on post day.
He was not naïve enough to think the man incapable of holding his own against the Dark Lord of Europe, but he was also not convinced he could do it by himself. After all, pretty much the whole ministry was putting their effort behind tracking the man down, and if Aurora was anything to go by, Grindelwald's ranks were smaller than he'd anticipated. There was power in numbers, yes, but what was the point if so many of those figures were completely useless?
It was a question that's made Tom consider his own position, his own plans for his future regime. Sure, he could waltz around Hogwarts picking up every prejudice knucklehead he could find, build a wall of playground bullies around him to kickstart his plan to reinstate only the most powerful of Wizards by picking off the weaklings first, but why allow his ranks to be infiltrated by idiots? That was what the Ministry had done, enough so that a group of school children had been able to gain valuable information about their plans in the course of a single evening.
No. He knew he had them beaten on that front already, especially with his new marks that he'd been slowly testing over ever since the boys had received them. A muttered incantation here and there from him, and he would quickly find the their scurrying to him, asking what he needed at the sensation of the snake moving against their forearm.
He'd yet to test the slightly more exciting feature, the one that allowed him to inflict pain without even being in the same room as them, as he was yet to be given a reason to bye any of them. Not even Avery had made a joke too close to the bone yet, and required a reminder of exactly where he stood. It was a shame really, but just made the moment it would finally arrive all that more anticipated.
It was by no stretch of the imagination Tom's desire to go and seek out Grindelwald, defeat him himself and take all the glory, more to sit and observe, learn from this mistakes of the older wizard to make his own scheme that more water tight. He already knew headquarters for operations would have to be a secret, somewhere unassuming that no one would think to raid. Hosting a castle as a base was a stupid idea, and practically screamed to be attacked. It was the little things like that he was grateful to know.
Still, no reports ever filtered through of any more progress, leaving Tom feeling nothing but mildly bored. His knights were all still well within their time limits for their next tasks, and even schoolwork had yet to pose any real challenges, he'd read pretty much every text book cover to cover over the summer already.
Head Boy duties only filled so much of his time, the extra patrols he had to cover extending to one more night a week, his usual prefect duties having been handed off to a sixth year. Granted, he wasn't sure if he missed his patrols with Aurora, or likewise, but he was yet to find out she'd hexed her new partner so he hazarded a guess that it wasn't going too badly.
Regardless, he knew he enjoyed roaming the castle by himself, late at night when everyone else slept soundly. He was free to take as much time as he liked examining every crevice, every alcove and hidden room of the castle, building his ever growing mind map of the place he'd called home for so many years now.
It was bizarre. Being a orphan had meant he was never sentimental about belongings, growing up with the belief that everything he was given didn't really belong to him, but to the muggle government who were kind enough to donate the pittance they did to stop themselves looking bad, had anyone questioned why they allowed so many children to be homeless. Merlin, they hadn't even bothered to evacuate the orphanage when the blitz had come around, just built two rickety old bomb shelters at the bottom of the garden, and forced every child in to any available space when those god-forsaken sirens had begun to scream, like angels of death announcing their arrival.
One time, Tom had been no older than 14, when the blackout had been called ands the sirens had started to blare, he'd pointedly ignored the matrons order to leave the building, locking himself in a bathroom until the shouting had subsided. He knew the muggle war had been catastrophic, the orphanage had lost a chunk off the side of the building weeks before he'd arrived back. It'd been patched up with precariously cemented rubble and a tarpaulin, enough to pass basic living standards for a care home but not enough to keep out a draft at night.
When he'd found out he was a wizard, there had been a feeling of untouchability that Tom had adopted. He knew, strictly speaking, that he wasn't immortal, but he also knew he was better than every other child he was forced to live with. Even his life expectancy topped theirs by a good sixty years. He acted rashly sometimes, out of anger is a way that was unbefitting of a Slytherin, but covertly enough to justify it.
Even at 14, Tom knew he needed to remind himself that he was flesh and bone. In that moment, at least.
Unlocking the bathroom door, he'd easily navigated his way through the dark corridors, the floor plan committed to memory after so many years of sneaking out at night. He knew where every loose, creaky floorboard was, every door with a lock that sometimes got stuck and hinges that squeaked just a bit too much to be safe.
But now he was alone. Everyone else was locked safely away, and he was by himself in the hellhole he'd been condemned to. Creaky floorboards and squeaky doors were no matter as he opened the big front doors, walking out into the dark night. He could hear the rumble of the Luftwaffe planes, somewhere off to the north of London. He wasn't all too worried, they only ever seemed to care about the landmarks and on the rare occasion shells had fallen in his area it'd always been as an afterthought. If not even the people of London cared about the grubby suburbs, why would the Nazis?
The iron gate was half open, so he slipped right through and onto the deserted road, deciding to just go for a stroll. He was shouted at by a police officer at one point, standing guard at the entrance of one of the underground stations. He ignored him, walking closer to where he knew the central party of the city was. Sirens continues to cry, the sound of buildings being reduced to nothing but a pile of stone and brick echoing through the air.
And the small 14 year old was drawn to it. The destruction, the chaos called to him, like a hook had been attached to his wrist and gently tugged. The war was a quiet fascination for him, to see both sides fighting so valiantly for what they believed, for the cause they backed, and taking the required losses.
The civilians, that was. The leaders barely even showed their faces anymore. He'd listened to the Matron wax poetic about how much Winston Churchill was doing for them, but Tom never heard any of it. The only people he saw as the true value in were the fighters. The soldiers, the generals and the pilots who went away to defend them. The old men who ruled out of nothing but nepotism and family status received no respect from him at all.
When the sun had risen the next morning, and Tom was restored safely to his room, he'd been screamed at. He'd feigned upset, saying the lock had been jammed and he'd spent the night terrified for his life, until the Matron had eventually calmed down and offered him a cup of watery, lukewarm tea for his troubles.
Roaming the castle felt ver similar. Only now, he wasn't burdened with his own mortality. No longer concerned about the folly of the muggle war, he took every corridors in his stride, knowing he would outlive every last student and teacher he shared them with. What would remain one it was all gone? Only him.
He was eternal. A marker of when time stood still for magic, a flagstone in the fight to prove magic truly was might. He may have been fighting under the facade of pureblood supremacy, but his mere continues existence proved that those powerful enough to wield such magic truly could do anything they wanted. He'd just found the right people to fund the cause.
Presenting himself in a way so far flung from any of his peers had always been imperative to his survival, right from an early age. No one wanted to be seen interacting with a child with the ay London accents when he was small, or who used rhyming slang or, God forbid, four letter words. There was a single TV in the orphanage, used for watching news and important broadcasts. Although a younger Tom may have dropped his T's when he spoke, or replaced his 'th's with 'f's, he soon began to look at these powerful men he hated so, the Prime Minister and the King, the way their voices demanded attention through nothing but the sound of them.
Then, he began practicing. Repeating sentences he'd heard businessmen in the streets of central London use until he had them perfect, then applying what he heard into his own speech patterns. Before long, he'd been able to go into shops without being ushered out, explaining that his dirty clothes had been the result of playing in his garden, and his family were really a wealthy lot from Fitzrovia.
It had all be perfect practice for Hogwarts. Where he'd been telling people his father was a high up banker for Barclays and Co, he was now just shifting the story ever so, to create the late Lord Riddle in Ireland. He no longer lived in Fitzrovia, or Mayfair or Belgravia or Marylebone but an unspecified place in Southern England with an unnamed benefactor. It was small things like that that had Tom convinced that his existence was not a coincidence. To much of his life had fallen too perfectly into place. He had never believed in the God that Matron had made him pray to, but he believed there was a force out there, somewhere, pushing him towards where he needed it to be. Call it fate, but something was there.
How else was he to justify Aurora to himself? It was easier to see her as a stepping stone to the resolution of his problems than a catalyst to myriad of new ones. Her most recent proposition had made it easier to believe, too. If a Horcrux couldn't break their bond, then an actual murder would. He refused to believe anything else, for the sake of his own self preservation. He knew he wouldn't die if something went wrong, but having to explain the death not just one but two witches? It concerned him more so than just the one.
But was he really certain that he wouldn't die? He couldn't be killed using any of the regular methods - a killing curse would likely comes the closest, but his would would live on, he could be bloodied, broken and mutilated by as many people as he could make a foe of, but he would simply continue to live on. The bond was different. Like his Horcruxes, it was a part of his soul, a part of him. Would destroying it destroy him too? Counteract the power the Horcruxes held and kill him anyway? It was truly frustrating, sometimes, that no wizard before him had come so close to defeating death and recorded their experience. Sometimes being so unique in his experience of magic was truly exhausting. There were no books to read, or reference on the subject.
Maybe there were others out there, hiding in plain sight, just not wanting to admit what they'd done. He'd briefly wondered last year if Dumbledore had once made a Horcrux. Or Grindelwald, even. It would have made sense, given the survival through as many assassination attempts that both had sustained, the obvious personal rivalry they had. Not being able to kill each other would have soured it even more. He knew it wasn't public knowledge, but the way the professor spoke of the Dark Lord was always laced with both lingering sadness and longing. There was more than just politics at play.
Merlin knew they both would have been capable pf such a thing, but he also knew that Aurora would have known had Grindelwald had one. Yet her calmer reaction to the creation of his own betrayed no sense of it being something that impacted her. If Grindelwald had had a Horcrux, he would've expected Aurora to have called into a state of utter panic when he'd first told her of his own plans, at his uncovering of a magic that'd kept her own Lord at power. when nothing came, he considered his theory all but disproven.
Maybe patrols by himself weren't the best after all. Before he knew what he was doing, Tom was watching the sun rise over the Black Lake from one of the upper floor corridors. He'd allowed himself to become so lost in his own thoughts that a whole night had passed without even realising it. He would have usually breathed himself for wasting time, meaning he would now spend a day exhausted and have to fuel himself on coffee alone, but really, time was no object to him. He had all the time in the world.
Hopefully.
*
The next time he was along with Aurora, it was completely unplanned and unanticipated, and therefore his least favourite type of way to stumble across her. It was once again, late at night, when he come into the Slytherin Common Room after not having been able to sleep. It'd taken him the time between actually Watkins into the room, grabbing a discarded book off of the coffee table and relighting the fire before he noticed the figure sat on the sofa in far corner watching him.
It was almost funny, it reminded him of the very start of last year, when she'd snuck out of a similar hiding place after a meeting with his Knights. Oh how times hand changed.
"Spying on me, Rosier?" He asked, setting himself comfortably down on his own sofa of choice. The clock indicated it was well past two o'clock.
She didn't reply, but he did hear her padding over to him, and drop into a chair nearby. The slight ruffle of material suggested she was pulling her nightgown closer around her. "Spying sounds deceptive. I prefer the term observing."
He hummed. "I suppose you've had enough practice of observing over the last six years." Tom didn't even need to look at her to know she was scowling.
"You didn't seem to care about that when you were snogging me in the chamber," she sniffed, and Tom felt his whole body stiffen. Knowing this would be yet another conversation she turned into a way to somehow vilify him, he closed the book that he truthfully, hadn't really been reading before turning back to her. He went to speak but found the air trapped in his throat when he saw what she was actually wearing.
He was right about the nightgown she'd tugged around herself, although he hadn't anticipated it to be almost entirely see-through. Really, the garment looked pretty useless, the fine silk offering him a clear view of the nightgown she wore underneath and the expanse of milky skin it left on display. Her legs, right up to the very top of her thighs, were covered by nothing but the white sheen of the robe and tucked under herself. She must've realised he was staring when she cleared her throat.
"Something the matter, Riddle?" She asked lightly.
Forcing himself to look away from the hem of the nightgown and up to her face, skipping straight over the neckline that would surely give half the society witches he'd met at events an apoplectic fit, he offered her only a neutral face. "I didn't know what you were, when that particular lapse of judgement happened."
She hummed this time, her mouth quirking down into an unconvinced frown before returning to the easy expression they'd come to rest in before. "Lapse of judgement? Harsh. Especially when that particular lapse in judgement is the key to your next big achievement."
So she was taunting him. Excellent, that was exactly what he'd wanted when he came down here this evening. He made no move to his his frustration. "You offered the opportunity, may I remind you. I didn't ask for it."
"You didn't have to," she replied, slightly too quickly for his liking. His eyes narrowed.
"Meaning?"
"Your occlumency is getting weaker already."
He could feel hos anger creeping up his spine already. "What are you implying, Rosier?"
"I am implying that I don't even need to try. Your thoughts are practically screaming at me from here. As they were in the Library a few weeks ago. You had made significant improvement, and now its all gone. did you simply disregard all I'd taught you because I made a choice about my own life that upset you?"
He scoffed, pushing himself up off the sofa with the sudden urge to pace around. "Your choice was not just something that affects you, you stupid bitch," he hissed, "It affects everyone, including me. I have every right to not trust a single thing you taught me."
She sighed, settling herself further into her seat as one of the thin straps on her dress began to shift, loosen and rolling towards the curve of her shoulder. No, he refused to acknowledge it. "It's a shame, you know. You were a promising student."
"And you were a deceitful teacher."
"Again with the semantic field of deception. Tell me, are you any better than me? Sneaking around Malfoy events and prying information out of drunk aurors doesn't sound very honest to me."
"I'm not putting a whole castle in immediate danger."
"Ah, there it is," she smiled, "Immediate danger. When will your reign of terror come around and put everyone at even greater risk?"
Her calmness was only fuelling Tom's annoyance. They were supposed to be connected and able to feel each other's emotions, why was she not getting as riled as him? It was hardly fair. "Please," he huffed, "You know my plans. You know the only people who'll be at risk are the mudbloods."
"You know what? For the first time, I don't care. You cannot deny that you're regime will not put this school in some sort of danger, can you?" He went to reply, but her features shifted into something else, darker, and she cut him off straight away. "No. You can't. So I ask you again, Riddle, are you any better than me?"
He couldn't reply. Because she was fucking right. He wasn't any better. And for once he didn't relish in that cruelty. Normally he would be able to claim it, hold on to the feeling of inflicting damage and thrive off of it, but she was forcing him to face a truth he hadn't managed to do himself yet. At some point, his own regime would have tackle the issue of the school. He'd already tested the waters when he'd killed Myrtle, but the danger had gone no further than the girls bathroom. He hadn't been sure then if he was ready to unleash it on the whole student population whilst he was still in school. Maybe in the future, when he'd be able to use it to secure control over the castle, and it was far enough out of sight to not have an immediate effect on him.
"How very selfish of you," Aurora purred, almost enough to make Tom jump. He went to snap at her again, but remembered quickly what she'd said about his thoughts being too loud. He quickly though up a few defences haphazardly, but she just laughed. "Too late. I've heard all I need to hear for this evening. Right from your denial of you own damages to this place to your want to rip this nightie off of me. For the record, I had you down as far more controlled in that regard."
The room was suddenly starting to feel awfully hot. "How very invasive of you."
"I can promise you I'm harbouring no guilt. I did teach you how to stop it, after all."
"If I recall, I believe magic got in the way somewhat," he gritted out, not-too-fondly remembering the slew of memories she'd been granted viewing to, "It is harder than you make it sound."
Aurora's tongue ran across her top row of teeth, and Tom half expected to see fangs. Her smile was pure venom. "No, no that's not quite right. You should really be able to cover yourself enough for me to not hear everything without much interruption. Now, were I to dive straight into your head again, that is where we'd run into problems. Answer my question. I want to hear you say it, out loud. Are you, Thomas Marvolo Riddle, any better than me?"
Oh how he regretted telling her his middle name. He used to fantasise about the way she said 'my Lord', before the expression was soured from her mouth for him. Now, however, he marvelled at the way she annunciated each word, lounged in a green arm chair with her chin propped up on her balled fist.
"Come on, I don't have all night," she pushed, though he could see her revelling in the slow crumbling of his resolve. She'd already heard his admission from his thoughts, after all. How bad could it be to repeat them to an empty room save for them, just once?
"Fine," he sighed, walking over to where she sat, only stopping once his knees almost brushed against hers, and gazed down, allowing his eyes to rove over her one final time in the knowledge she'd already heard his views on her outfit. She had always been pale enough to give the illusion of her skin glowing, but the white dress really topped on the angelic illusion. And what an illusion on it was. "I am no better than you, Aurora Rosier."
Her grin turned to a less disarming smile, something stuck in the in between of genuine and mere satisfaction. He knew he didn't like it immediately. Something was off, and one look to her eyes told him it wasn't that, they were still open and piercing blue, not closed off and dull. She wasn't occluding.
"No, you aren't. So I ask you, why have you been hellbent on convincing both me and you otherwise?"
"I wouldn't say hellbent."
"That's a shame. I would."
"Evidently. You do have a habit of forcing you opinions on others."
"Consistency and commitment to a cause is the best way to shift other's opinions. I'm simply doing what I do best."
"Being a vindictive bitch?"
"I was going to say manipulating people, but to give it another title, yes I suppose."
In the time of their exchange, Tom had found himself leant over the chair, one arm bracing himself on either armrest. He recalled a similar position they'd been in, reflective of the time when his occlumency really had failed. He also recalled what had happened next. "Is this the part where your kiss me and run off again?" He asked, his voice huskier than he'd expected as the smell of jasmine filled his every sense.
Tongue darting out to wet her lower lip, she considered him. "Are you going to give me a reason to run off?"
"I think you know the answer to that." And he descended. For the briefest of moment, her mouth was soft, lips parted ever so as they met in the space between. It didn't last of course, no sooner had one of Tom's hands come to rest on her jaw did she bite down on his lip, hard, enough for the tang of metal to permeate his taste buds.
A growl emanated from somewhere at the back of his throat, and he tugged her to her feet, the cool silk of her nightgown passing straight through his hand and it tumbled to the floor, the bow sash holding it closed at her waist falling open with the brief movement. It was both a completely useless and ingenious design.
Fire shot through his veins as her fingers tugged at his hair, vicious and intentionally mean. His own hands came to rest over the curve of her arse in response, fingers digging into the soft flesh through the thin and few layers that separated them.
The experience was strange. Unlike the first time, where they'd been fuelled only by Aurora's hatred, or the second when she'd been near enough an emotional void, Tom was soon aware of the utter grounding of kissing her. He could almost feel the bond vibrating in his chest, a rope connecting him and her, unable to relinquish its hold.
She pulled sharply on the nape of his neck, pulling his head back and eliciting a hiss from the slight sting. She was smiling, of course, lips reddened and swollen from each nip and bite he'd lavished her with.Of course, he'd given as much as he'd got.
"You know, Head Boy," she said quietly, fingers drawing circles into his skin, "this is awfully irresponsible behaviour. In a public space, anyone could walk in."
"I'd argue that your getup is the irresponsible part. A prefect should set an example, what would the governors think if they saw the supposed school role model in such thing?"
"Do you mind?"
He smirked. "You know you I don't, apparently." He swooped down to recapture her lips, but her turned her head ever so, just enough for him to miss. Instead, she pulled his head down until her mouth was level with his ear.
"Actually," she whispered, "I didn't. But I do now." And with that, her hands left his neck, his own falling from her back and she stepped away.
"Excuse me?" He asked, his tone carrying out much surprise for his own liking.
She was smiling again, standing in the moonlight, the shadows cats over her nightie making her obviously hard nipples very difficult to ignore. "I told you a little white lie. I couldn't hear your thoughts at all. It was mainly inference that lead me to most of my conclusions, but its nice you were kind enough to confirm them."
He just stared at her. "What?"
"I mean, I didn't sit through an auditory show of your internal struggles with your own lack of morality, or any of you sexual desires surrounding me. You gave it all away with your body language, and your willingness to admit I was right simply isn't good enough. You surrendered to the knowledge of my abilities and let yourself go. Had that been an Auror talking to you, you'd already be in a cell in Azkaban."
Tom scoffed, utterly incredulous at what he was hearing. "So you set me up again? Taunt me for a while and the kiss me to try and humiliate me."
Aurora shrugged, the strap of her nightie now threatening to give at any moment. "The taunting? Yes. Kissing you to humiliate you? No."
"So you wanted to kiss me, then?"
"Riddle, do I look like the kind of girl to kiss someone she doesn't want to more than once?"
He paused. What was she saying? "You've kissed me three times, now."
Her teeth dragged along her lower lip. "I have, haven't I? I wonder what that could mean. Consider this your third lesson." She didn't give him any time to react before she was gone, silver silk following her as she disappeared down the girls corridor.
Again.
She'd fucking done it again.
And he'd let her. She'd wormed her way into his head, figuratively this time, and had him spilling his secrets to her. Only this time, he'd done so willingly. And for the love of Merlin she'd kissed him again, and he hadn't hated it.
He hadn't hated her, either. At least for a moment.
Yes, how awfully irresponsible indeed.
Author's Note
Hey guys, this might be the last update for a while. I'm moving out next week and have no idea when I'm going to have time to write again for a while. I'm an actor over the Halloween period which snaffles up every moment of free time I have, but I will try my best. By no means am I abandoning Tom and Aurora, I simply don't know when I'll next get to see them. Thank you for every comment and favourite on my silly little story <3