"All right, ladies. We're going to Hogsmeade—for dress-shopping!"
"Dress-shopping?" Norma repeated, glancing up from her book and furrowing her eyebrows in confusion at Ethelle, who was beaming animatedly. "What for?"
"The Slug Club party, of course!" Ethelle exclaimed, shoving a piece of toast into her mouth as she talked.
"But—you're not in the Slug Club," Norma stated matter-of-factly, scrunching her nose at Ethelle's poor table manners.
Ethelle rolled her eyes as she chewed. "Of course not, I'm not a total nerd like you two. But, I just got invited to it by the one and only—Abraxas Malfoy!"
Malfoy. That name hit me with a pang of remembrance. In my time, there was a boy named Draco Malfoy—a year older than me—who was currently the Head Boy. Most steered clear of him, because he was known to be one of the youngest death eaters ever recruited by the Dark Lord.
"Abraxas Malfoy?" Norma parroted, looking utterly disgusted. "He's a total git. I would advice against it."
Ethelle rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Norma! Just because he sometimes gets detention, or accidentally jinxes first years—"
"Accidentally?" Norma interjected with a disbelieving raise of her brows.
"The point is, he's really handsome!" Ethelle said dreamily, resting her cheek on her palm as she gazed off into space with a faraway expression on her face. "Ugh, I'm such a sucker for blondes."
I chuckled slightly at that, before glancing over at Norma, who was shaking her head at the auburn-haired girl disapprovingly.
"What's so wrong with this Malfoy boy anyway?" I questioned, although I knew that if he was anything like his grandson—who, before he became a death eater, was already notoriously popular at Hogwarts for his reputation as a bully—he was definitely a git.
"Nothing!" Ethelle insisted, snapping out of her daydream, just as Norma shouted, "Everything!"
The two girls engaged in an intense eye contest, before I rolled my eyes. "Norma, explain, please?" I asked, causing Norma to rip her gaze away from Ethelle and look over at me.
"He's a major bully," the brunette girl elaborated simply. "He always gets detention for picking on first years."
I raised my eyebrows at Ethelle. "He doesn't sound so great to me, either. Sorry, Eth."
Ethelle groaned and buried her face in her arms, before peering out at us. "Whatever. I couldn't care less what you guys think of Abraxas—let's just go shopping!"
•
I was rather eager to join Norma and Ethelle on their trip to Hogsmeade—until I realized I didn't have a permission slip. Perhaps I could ask Professor Dippet about it—seeing as I lived in a Muggle orphanage, there was no way of me getting it signed.
With that in mind, I left my friends to get ready for the trip and traveled up what felt like millions of staircases to the Headmaster's office, planning out what I had to say.
I was about to reach the golden gargoyle when I noticed someone else, across from me, was heading in the same direction. At first glance, I assumed it was someone a year or so older than me, due to their height—and then, as my light blue eyes met a pair of dark brown ones, I realized who it was.
"Tom," I saluted pleasantly. "Why aren't you getting ready to head to Hogsmeade?"
Tom blinked. "Why aren't you?" he riposted swiftly, raising his brows at me.
"I don't have a permission slip," I admitted with a small smile. "You?"
"I...I've never had the need for it until now," he confessed reluctantly. "I used to buy suits for the Slug Club during my holidays, but I forgot to during the winter."
His penetrative eyes met mine, before glancing away abruptly, almost as if he was...embarrassed.
"That's odd," I commented. "I didn't think you would be the type to pass an opportunity to go to Hogsmeade."
"Then you must not know me as well as you thought, Swan," he answered coldly. "I'd rather stay at school and work on my studies than waste time on childish things in Hogsmeade."
I smirked at that, shrugging my shoulders as a response before turning to the golden gargoyle. It suddenly struck me that I didn't know the password.
"Er...d'you know—"
"Obviously," Tom interrupted, stepping in front of the gargoyle. "I'm a prefect. Amortentia."
I watched in amazement as the gargoyle moved sideways, revealing a golden staircase leading to the Headmaster's quarters. I shot a small, grateful smile at Tom, which he pointedly disregarded as he easily stepped up on one of the steps.
I almost expected him to stretch out a hand to assist me, before realizing that this was Tom Riddle. I huffed as I struggled to get onto one of the steps, and then wiped nonexistent sweat off my brow, smiling up awkwardly at the pale boy.
"Pathetic," he spat, shaking his head at me. I knitted my brows.
"Thank you for your kind compliments," I responded sardonically, fighting the urge to roll my eyes at him. "You know, sometimes I think you have a multiple personality disorder. One day, you're polite and charming, and the next, you're incredibly rude."
"I don't care for your opinions on my personality," he retorted, his nonchalant expression never leaving his face.
Before I could muster a response, the staircase stopped moving. We paused in front of a familiar-looking door, and Tom rapped his knuckles gently against the oak.
"Come in," an elderly voice spoke from within, and Tom pushed the door open, me following behind him. "Ah, Tom—and Miss Swan, I see."
"Good morning, Headmaster," Tom addressed politely, sending a charismatic smile in the old man's direction. "I'm so sorry to disrupt, but I—well, and Viviette here, too—had a question."
"Ask away, my dear Tom," Dippet instructed with a fond smile, nodding at me in acknowledgement.
"I—well, we—were just wondering whether we can have your permission to visit the Hogsmeade village, sir?" Tom quizzed, his tone a perfect balance of politeness and hopefulness. Before Dippet could respond, I spoke up.
"You see, sir, we can't exactly ask our caretaker at the orphanage to sign the permission slip," I told him, stretching my lips into a charming smile. "Muggles, you see."
"Yes, yes, I know, Miss Swan," Professor Dippet sighed. "But I'm afraid nothing on the slip suggests that Hogwarts is a magical school. You can ask the Muggles to sign it with no fear of them finding out about our world."
From the corner of my eye, I saw Tom's smile drop for a fraction of a second, before he stepped forwards again.
"But, sir—"
"No, no, Tom, I'm sorry," Dippet interjected, shaking his head remorsefully. "I cannot sign the slip for you."
I felt my heart sink in disappointment, before an idea suddenly formed in my head, like a lightbulb lighting up.
"That's all right, sir," I said hurriedly, before Tom could think of asking again. "Thank you for your time."
I clasped my fingers around Tom's wrist, leading him out of the office with a small, departing smile at the ancient professor. As soon as the two of us reached the staircase, he snatched his arm out of my grip.
"Are you daft?" he hissed, as the mobile staircase descended downwards. "I could've easily persuaded Dippet if—"
"Oh please," I scoffed, shaking my head. "Dippet wouldn't let us, and you know that."
A tetchy expression distorted his handsome features. "Great, then. We don't have anything to wear to Slughorn's party—might as well not go at all."
At this, I released a small laugh. "Oh goodness, Tom, you are such a goody-two-shoes. Just because Dippet says we can't go, doesn't mean we really won't go."
At this, Tom puckered his brows, scanning my mischievous grin with a look of skepticism adorning his pale face.
"What do you mean?" he asked, and his tone was considerably gentler, curiosity swimming in the dark depths of his eyes.
"Are you daft?" I mimicked, although ensured my grin remained playful as to not wound his enlarged ego. "We're going to Hogsmeade."
Before Tom could open his mouth to question me, the moving stairway halted. I hopped off the steps and Tom, his never-ending curiosity getting the best of him, had no choice but to follow my lead.
The two of us trudged through the vacant corridors, and climbed down several moving staircases, until we finally reached my destination. Of course, Tom had been shooting questions and demands in my direction the entire way, but I ignored him—increasing his curiosity and making him more and more frustrated with each step we took.
"Would you mind explaining where we are headed exactly, Swan?" Tom questioned, his tone bordering on impatience.
"Here," I announced, as the two of us stopped in front of a large statue of a one-eyed woman crouching evilly upon a staff.
I watched as a crinkle formed between Tom's eyebrows. He stared at the statue for a few seconds, a frown of perplexity plastered to his chiseled face.
"And what is this?" he drawled, raising an eyebrow at me, evidently unimpressed.
"It's the One-Eyed Witch passage," I clarified, my smile growing at the fact that I knew something he didn't. It was all thanks to my best friend from my time period that I knew it—Ainsley had once caught the Weasleys twins using this passage to get to Hogsmeade. "With it, we can easily reach Hogsmeade without getting caught."
Before Tom could muster a bewildered response, I brandished my wand and tapped it on the statue, muttering, "Dissendium."
The effect was immediate; the hump on the witch's statue split open, revealing what appeared to be a slide. I examined it in wonder; I wasn't even certain whether this was going to work or not, because I had never done it myself. Ainsley had only told me about it, we never actually tried it out.
I wheeled around to face Tom with a prideful grin on my face. His lips had parted slightly in an expression of barely veiled bafflement.
"What are you waiting for?" I asked, my grin widening. "Come on."
I climbed up into the statue, and sat on the slide, glancing backwards at Tom. He seemed hesitant at first, but I knew he would follow; his dark eyes shone in curiosity and mystification as he observed me, and I knew he wouldn't be able to resist a mysterious passageway.
Just as I suspected, he climbed upwards after me. It was a quite comical sight, really; the rule-abiding and tidy prefect Tom Riddle, climbing onto a statue and completely disrespecting the school rules.
Once I was sure he was coming, I slid down the slide, which turned out to be surprisingly short. My vision darkened significantly, and I fell on my back on the hard stone ground.
I groaned quietly, but before I could get up, a hefty weight landed on my body. I felt as if someone dropped a gigantic, heavy rock onto my chest—I couldn't even release a groan, the breath being knocked out of me.
I felt the weight being lifted from me, and released a breath of relief.
"Lumos," I heard a male voice hiss, and I blinked in surprise as a flash of light nearly blinded my sight.
"Ow—get that away from me," I whined, pushing what felt like a wand away from my face. I blinked my eyes open, to see that Tom Riddle's face was inches away from mine.
Startled, I pushed him off me, causing him to release a soft groan. "Swan—"
"Tom?" I piped up timorously, furrowing my brows at the disgruntled boy. The milky light coming from the tip of his wand irradiated his sculpted features, making his already pale skin look a deathly shade of white.
"Merlin, what is this?" he snapped crabbily, standing up and dusting himself off. "Where did you bring us?"
"This, Tom, is the One-Eyed Witch passage," I explained, smirking slightly at the fact I knew something he didn't. "It's an easy way to get right into Hogsmeade. You've never heard of it?"
"No—I don't waste my time on childish things like Hogsmeade," Tom retorted, his expression darkening slightly, before his brows connected suspiciously. "And how do you know about this place? You've only been a student here for a few weeks."
I blinked, suddenly feeling nervous, before hastily curving my lips into a small smirk. "I like to explore," I lied smoothly. "Now, let's go."
I started to walk, Tom trotting behind me reluctantly. "How did you know the spell?" he demanded from behind me.
I gulped. Did he ever stop asking questions? He was too curious for his own good—even more curious than I was. I inhaled deeply and exhaled, calming myself down as I tried to think of an appropriate response.
"I read," I responded at last, keeping my voice calm and indifferent. "Anyway, what do you think Slughorn's party is going to be like?"
At this, Tom released a pompous snort. "It will be completely and utterly tedious—a waste of my time," he answered snidely, catching up to me and now walking by my side. "However, I suppose I do need to waste my time on his useless parties."
"Why is that?" I inquired, but knowing him, I could already predict his answer.
"To stay in his good graces, of course," he replied simply.
"Oh yes, of course," I agreed, nodding with a small smirk. "Dear old Sluggy must see 'Tom, m'boy' or else he'll die of heartbreak."
I started giggling childishly at my own joke, while Tom shot me a glare, clearly unamused.
"Very funny," he retorted sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "I'm starting to regret my decision to take you as my date."
"Excuse me, but I'm the one taking you as my date," I riposted. "And who would you rather go with, if not me?"
At that, Tom remained silent. He held his wand up higher, illuminating the tunnel we were in.
"How long do we have?" he demanded, narrowing his eyebrows.
"Well, obviously we're not going to get to Hogsmeade in five minutes," I answered with a roll of my eyes, although I myself was starting to get worried.
"Then in how many minutes, Swan?" Tom queried, his tone growing stern.
"Er—I guess we'll see!" I chirped in a sing-song voice, causing Tom's brows to furrow.
"Do you mean to tell me you've never used this tunnel before?" he questioned slowly, his eyes growing slightly lethal as he pointed his wand in my face menacingly.
"Um..." I trailed off, eyeing his lit up wand nervously. "Well, I have—er—it takes about, um, thirty minutes."
Tom lowered his wand, scoffing and shaking his head. "You're a terrible liar, Swan. You're lucky—"
"Lucky you're too curious to pass up this opportunity?" I finished, a cunning grin forming on my face. "Yeah, I suppose I am. Though if you wish to duel, I'm a pretty good dueler."
"You're an utter moron," he muttered underneath his breath.
"That's no way to speak to a proper lady," I chided playfully, glancing up to see that he was—once again—unimpressed by my little joke.
"You are hardly a proper lady," he retorted.
"Hey!" I laughed, punching him in the shoulder playfully—which resulted in him spinning around and pointing his wand in my face balefully.
"What are you doing?" he demanded sharply, as I ogled at his wand in my face.
"I was just joking around, gosh," I grumbled, pushing his lit up wand from my face before it could blind my sight.
"You have a terrible sense of humor," Tom said coldly, pointing his wand forwards and continuing to walk.
"At least I have a sense of humor," I shot back waspishly. Tom was like an ill-tempered old man trapped in the body of a fifteen-year-old boy. A rather weird fifteen-year-old boy, at that.
The two of us continued to walk in silence, me brooding quietly and Tom being as unreadable as always. Our trek continued for what felt like a millennia, and I was getting so bored I just had to strike up a conversation again.
"So—er—what's your favorite color?" I asked, clearing my throat.
At this, Tom paused for a moment, before continuing to walk. "What?" he said, his brows furrowed.
"What's your favorite color?" I repeated patiently. "Mine is grey—it's such a pretty color, and it kind of reminds me of my eyes, sometimes."
"Your eyes are blue," Tom stated matter-of-factly, his gaze fixated on a point in front of us.
"Thank you for letting me know," I grumbled. "And I said sometimes, because sometimes, my eyes are grey. Anyway, what's your favorite color?"
"I don't waste my time on such idiotic things," he scoffed, his tone dripping with scorn.
I raised a brow at him, disappointed but definitely not surprised. One part of me was desperately hoping that he would have a favorite color, something to make him seem more...human. But the other, more sensible part, knew he wouldn't even manage that.
"Unsurprising," I said indifferently. "Do you really not have any color that you like?"
At once, Tom's face twinged with irritation. "Why are you asking me this?"
"Just curious," I replied with a shrug of my shoulders. "And wanting to start a conversation. Do you have a favorite animal, at least?"
At this, Tom seemed to hesitate. Intrigued by his moment of doubt, I stared at him from the corner of my eye. Maybe he did have a favorite animal—finally, something to make him more human and less—er—villainous.
"I suppose I like snakes," he answered at last, his voice carefully calm and collected, but I thought I could detect a hint of passion in it. He seemed as if he wished to elaborate, to explain why, but he remained silent.
"Snakes," I repeated. "I guess it makes sense. Why do you like them?"
"Why do you care?" Tom shot back, but I could tell it wasn't out of spite—probably more out of discomfort. I doubted anyone ever asked him these types of questions, and for a second, I felt—I almost felt sympathy for him, forgetting about the monster he'd become in the future.
"I like to ask my friends all sorts of questions," I answered quietly, glancing up at him through my lashes with a warm smile.
At this, Tom paused. I stopped with him, turning around to face him with a quizzical expression on my face.
"Friends?" he repeated slowly, his brows knitting in confusion.
"I thought we already settled this? I consider you my friend, Tom," I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. Why did he have to be so difficult?
"I..." he trailed off, before shaking his head and continuing to walk. I followed after him, my lips curved into a small smile of victory at the fact he didn't counter my statement.
"Well, my favorite animal is a swan—like my last name," I announced. "Specifically black swans. I like what they symbolize—beauty, grace and elegance, but also power, mystery and intelligence. I suppose you like snakes because they're reserved, resilient and intelligent, isn't that so?"
A crinkle appeared in between Tom's brows, but he maintained his silence, pointing his wand forwards. A ponderous, unreadable frown was plastered to his face.
"Black swans are also usually disliked by the other swans, the white swans—or seen as outcasts," I continued. "I guess I also like how you can apply that to real life. Most people dislike others who are different from them—who are, in a way, better than them. Although white swans also represent elegance and grace, they're not half as powerful and independent as black swans. Well, symbolically, I mean."
Tom stayed silent, but the wrinkle in between his brows deepened. As I observed him, I realized he sort of reminded me of a black swan, himself. He was definitely a black swan among a lake of white swans, the odd one out—although he didn't make it obvious. And, as much as it pained me to admit it, he was as independent, powerful and intelligent as a black swan.
"We're here," Tom spoke after a while, snapping me out of my thoughts.
"What?" I asked sharply, glancing up at him, to see that he was staring at a trapdoor above us.
"We're here, Swan," he repeated, dragging out my surname, clearly on purpose. "I suppose this will lead us to Hogsmeade?"
"Oh—oh yes," I verified, nodding. "This will—er—lead us there."
"You don't need to pretend as if this isn't your first time using this passage, Swan," Tom said, sounding exasperated. "Just—let's go."
"Yep," I nodded, directing my gaze to the trapdoor above us. "Let's go."