The next morning, I awoke to the sight of a deserted dormitory. I had come to the common room late that night, having spent the remainder of my evening after that talk with Tom strolling through the vacant dungeons, mulling over everything.
Norma and I never got the chance to continue our discussion; when I came, she was already asleep. And in the morning, she—along with the rest of my roommates—had left for the train.
I wondered what would become of our friendship. Obviously, I wished to become friends again—but with Tom ruling over every one of my decisions, the idea was becoming quite unfathomable. I reminded myself that I hadn't come this far in order to make friends; I came this far to steer Tom Riddle away from his dark deeds and to save my mother from the cruel fate she would have to face.
The euphoria I felt yesterday from Norma talking to me had diminished in the blink of an eye, and was now replaced by an all-too familiar feeling of dejection. It was all because of Tom, and as much as I wished to curse him into oblivion, I knew I couldn't.
It was rather difficult to get out of bed that morning, my mind brimming with negative thoughts. But I did it anyway.
I splashed my face with icy water and tucked stray wisps of my hair away from my face with a few black hair-clips. Seeing as there were no classes, I traded my Slytherin uniform for a simple, short-sleeved green dress.
Thoughts of despair clouded my mind as I exited the room, ambling through the girls' dormitories corridor. I pushed them out; perhaps this easter break would give me a chance to brood deeply over my options.
I rounded a corner, now entering the Slytherin common room, which I expected to be empty. To my dismay, it wasn't.
My eyes locked into a pair of obsidian ones, my heart halting. Tom Riddle stood with a courteous smile plastered to his finely-carved face, his jet-black hair hanging atop his forehead in curly waves. Ever the perfect gentleman.
"Tom," I greeted, stepping forwards gingerly as I observed his charismatic expression with slight caution. "What do you want?"
"That isn't quite the warm greeting I expected," Tom spoke pleasantly, his smile growing slightly as a twinkle of merry deceit entered his eyes. "I just wished to escort a dear friend of mine to breakfast."
"Dear friend?" I repeated, blinking in bemusement. "But—but don't you hate me?"
"On the contrary, my dear Viviette," Tom disagreed, his smile broadening into a wily grin. "I find you more fascinating than ever."
My brows knitted in bafflement, and I felt my heartbeats quicken in fear at the cunning gleam in his sable black eyes. His face remained as smooth and charismatic as ever, everything in his expression willing me to trust him—except for the slyness in his gaze.
"Is that so?" I asked impassively, eyeing him with definite distrust. "I thought you said I'd lost your trust."
"Oh, you did," Tom confirmed amicably. "But along with that, you've made me even more interested in you than before. I don't have to hide things from you anymore, Viviette—you will make a perfect...friend."
A perfect friend—in other words, a perfect servant.
I contemplated his words thoroughly, uncertain of what to respond with. If I replied too readily, I'd make him skeptical of my motives—if I questioned him, it would probably make me seem more honest.
"And what makes you think that I'd want to assist you in any of your plans?" I demanded coldly, tilting my chin upwards in a dignified manner. "After the way you acted yesterday?"
Tom's simper transformed into a clever smirk as he observed me with his sharp eyes. "I'll make you a good offer."
I arched a brow at him, waiting quite impatiently for his offer. He stared back at me, a guileful smile playing on his lips—a smile that seemed to taunt me giddily in a way that a mischievous predator would taunt its prey, a smile that seemed to say, Even if you are an Occlumens, I can still read your thoughts.
"Well?" I enquired, my voice lacking the assertiveness I wished it had. "What's your offer?"
Tom raised his eyebrows in feigned astonishment. "Oh, I won't be making the offer now. First, I'd like to escort you to breakfast."
"I—fine, whatever," I griped, and with a final, enchanting smile, he spun around and started to strut his way across the common room. I trailed after him reluctantly.
We exited the Slytherin common room, greeted by the ever-dreary sight of the chilly dungeons. I walked alongside Tom, rubbing my arms to get rid of the goosebumps that coated them.
"So, how do you feel?" Tom questioned casually, as we climbed up a set of stone steps into the entrance hall.
A brisk wind wafted through the small crack between the two great oak doors leading outside, but it was pleasant compared to the bitingly frigid temperature of the dungeons. I shrugged.
"Okay, I suppose," I said quietly, as we trekked inside of the Great Hall. "You?"
"Very well, thank you," Tom replied, his voice perfectly gentlemanly. "Let's sit."
The Great Hall was almost completely drained of any students; there were a few Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, but mostly Ravenclaws. I smiled fondly, knowing how studious us Ravenclaws could be—so studious that we'd even spend our holidays at school. Lost in nostalgic memories, I nearly made my way to the Ravenclaw table—before remembering I was a Slytherin now.
The Slytherin table was utterly vacant, not a single student occupying the benches. All of them had gone to their loving pureblood families. I followed Tom to the table and we sat down across from each other.
At once, a delectable breakfast magically formed on the table before us. I thanked the house elves silently and piled scrambled eggs onto my plate greedily.
I glimpsed back up at Tom to see that he was gobbling up sausages. It was odd—I never imagined the great, menacing Lord Voldemort to be so keen on sausages, but there he was, shoving the steamy pieces into his mouth hastily. Somehow, he appeared elegant and graceful doing even that.
I found myself gawking like a fool as I watched him eat, looking like a human for once. He must have felt his eyes on me, because after throwing what must have been the sixth piece of sausage into his mouth his eyes quirked up at me inquisitively.
"Do I have something on my face?" he asked, raising an eyebrow up at me inquisitively.
I scowled, feeling a slight blush blossom on my cheeks, before turning back to my food.
"You seem to like sausages a lot," I commented stupidly, before I felt the rush of blood in my cheeks quicken.
Tom furrowed his eyebrows in bafflement at my observation, placing down his fork slowly. I mentally cursed myself for my idiocy.
"I do," he agreed, and as if to prove his statement, he shoved another piece of sausage into his mouth with graceful rapidity.
"I just—it's just weird seeing you enjoy normal things, like normal humans," I explained, not caring that my words were rather impolite. Despite my rudeness, Tom smirked.
"Am I not a normal human?" he drawled, an unreadable glint in his deep brown eyes.
"No," I blurted thoughtlessly. His smirk grew, as if I had paid him the most considerate of compliments. It seemed as if I enjoyed digging my own grave, because I continued. "You're weird, and cold, and emotionless. And you have a weird obsession with immortality."
Tom didn't seem offended by my rather unfriendly comment. Instead, he threw another sausage into his mouth and chewed on it contemplatively before swallowing it.
"You're right, I'm not a normal human," he concurred. "I'm better."
I barely repressed a scoff of derision, instead choosing to simply raise my eyebrows in disbelief.
"Very humble, aren't you?" I mocked, my lips quirking upwards in one side despite myself. Tom smirked back.
"I'm only honest," he disagreed. I expelled a light laugh, and for a moment, I thought his smirk switched to a smile—but it must have been a trick of the light.
After consuming our breakfasts, Tom and I went our separate ways. Despite his absence, he was still tattooed to my mind—I couldn't stop thinking of him and his obscure behavior.
There was just something so eerie about him, so unnatural—so inhumane. It bothered me.
I wandered the empty hallways of Hogwarts aimlessly, all sorts of ominous thoughts swirling through my restless mind. After a few minutes of ponderous walking, I decided to go outside and enjoy the spring sunshine.
I expected to remain alone and at peace for the remainder of the day, a prospect that I looked forward to—when my plans were ruined by a familiar, velvety voice, just as I was ready to exit through the entrance hall doors.
"Viviette."
I whirled around, suppressing a groan of exasperation as I faced Tom Riddle. He was smirking knowingly, and I itched to slap that haughty simper off his face.
"What?" I snapped, not bothering to veil my irritation. His smirk only grew.
"You seem like you have nothing to do," he commented innocently. "I was just wondering if you'd like to practice dueling with me? I expect all of my friends to be expert duelists, and training with me will definitely assist you with that."
I blinked, before my lips drooped into a glower. I wanted to go outside and enjoy the warm air—not duel with a psychopathic future dark lord.
"I'm already an expert duelist, so thanks—but no thanks," I riposted, spinning around on my heel and getting ready to exit, when a strong hand clasped around my wrist.
I wheeled around with a gasp, startled, and found my face only inches away from Tom's. I jerked my arm out of his grip hastily.
"Come with me," he ordered, his voice devoid of its previous friendliness. "And perhaps I'll even make you my offer."
I blinked a few times, starting to actually consider his words. I was skeptical of his motives, but curious as to what his 'offer' was.
"Fine," I agreed stiffly, crossing my arms across my chest. "Are we going to ask a professor if we can use their classroom, or what?"
Tom smiled, a gesture of ridiculing amusement. "Don't be so silly. We'll be going to the Room of Requirement, of course."
"How silly of me," I agreed dryly, but Tom only continued to smile disparagingly.
He spun around, starting to stalk away, and I trailed after him begrudgingly.
•
"I want to see how powerful you are—without any distractions or professors to deter you," Tom explained, as we stood in the vast dueling arena that the Room of Requirement provided for us. "Use every ounce of magic you know."
"Why?" I questioned, knitting my eyebrows in befuddlement and suspicion.
"Well, I'll need powerful people on my side," he elaborated simply.
"Why would I want to be on your side?" I asked charily, shaking my head. "You don't trust me, and I clearly don't trust you."
"Trust can be built," Tom countered offhandedly.
"You said you had an offer for me," I reminded him. "What is it?"
Tom smiled, but it was cold and unsettling, and I felt goosebumps sprinkle over my arms.
"You're really curious, aren't you?" he mocked, stepping closer to me in a leisurely way. "You're wasting your potential, Viviette—you could be an exceptionally powerful witch, with your intelligence and talent...there aren't many witches our age who can perform Occlumency so effortlessly, or who can keep up a duel with me without losing in seconds. You might be the only person who has seen through my façade—you're too smart to fool or trick. You are truly admirable."
I felt my lips curving upwards slightly, feeling flattered by his words. There was nothing in the world that I appreciated more than compliments, and his kind words of flattery were enough to warm my insides and melt my hesitance.
"If you let me guide you, you could easily become one of the most powerful witches in the world," he continued beguilingly. "Even more powerful than me."
I resisted a smile—it was odd, that he'd admit I could be more powerful than he was.
But as I realized how odd it really was, it suddenly dawned on me what he was doing—he was manipulating me by stroking my ego. I had revealed to him the extent of my arrogance before, and he was now using it against me.
"You're right, I am too smart to fool or trick," I agreed condescendingly. "That's why your little compliments aren't going to work on me."
Tom blinked, before smiling scornfully. "Well, then—I suppose I must make you my offer."
I frowned slightly, before nodding as a sign for him to continue. He stepped closer to me, an ambiguous glimmer in his anthracite eyes.
"You must know by now that I'm a powerful wizard," he began complacently, "but you don't know how far I can go to attain what I want. You have no idea of what I'm capable of."
He was now mere centimeters away from me, his eyes twinkling malevolently. I swallowed.
"And what is it that you are capable of?" I quizzed, raising an eyebrow coolly.
"I'm capable of killing you," he answered shortly. I blinked.
"Er—what?"
His lips stretched into a predatory smile, and he reached out a hand to cup my cheek with a mocking expression of false caring. I shivered at his icy touch, but I couldn't look away from him; it was as if he had bewitched me, my gaze staying glued to his.
"It would be a pity, of course—your death," he continued. "You're such a talented witch. But I could kill you without any hesitation—if you don't join me. I don't trust you—I never have, but you're too powerful to not be on my side."
"So that's your offer, then?" I said slowly, knowing I should feel horrified but only feeling numb. "I either join you, or you kill me?"
"You don't sound surprised," he commented, smiling. "Yes, that is my offer."
I snapped out of my daze and yanked his hand away from my cheek, scowling at him.
"Oh yes, I see now what you meant by a good offer—great offer, really, an offer that I'd never be able to refuse," I retorted brusquely. "Do you always get people to join by threatening to kill them? Is that why you have so many friends? You threaten to kill them if they don't attend your pathetic little meetings?"
Tom only smiled tauntingly, before striding away from me until he stood at the opposite side of the room.
"Shall we began our duel?" he offered pleasantly. Without waiting for my response, he made a polite bow, though it seemed derisory. "Bow, Viviette."
I refused to, of course, but he waved his wand and I felt my spine bending against my will. And then—
"Stupefy!"
I brandished my wand hastily, caught off-guard. I pranced sideways as the jet of scarlet light shot in my direction.
"Expelliarmus!" I bellowed, aiming it at him. He dodged the spell with a lazy flick of his wand.
"Enough of Expelliarmus," he drawled. "It's starting to bore me."
I wasn't going to comply with his wishes, and I definitely was not going to divulge all of the tricks I had up my sleeve—like he clearly wished me to. Instead, I calmly raised my wand and sent another Disarming Charm his way, making it nonverbal this time.
Tom dodged it with an indolent flourish of his wand, raising his eyebrows mockingly at me. "Is the Disarming Charm really the best you can do? Is that why it's the only spell you use? I'm disappointed, Viviette; your choice of a signature spell is rather pathetic, really."
My lips stretched into a smirk of their own accord as I recalled the fact that, in my time era, Harry Potter had beat him in a duel when he was only fourteen years old by simply using 'Expelliarmus'.
"You never know—it may beat you someday," I said with a shrug of my shoulders, my smirk growing. "You're not as powerful as you think. Expelliarmus!"
"Perhaps I need to make you angrier," Tom mused, once again blocking the spell with an idle wave of his wand. "Crucio!"
My eyes doubled in size and despite all of my muscles urging me to run, I remained rooted to my spot, as if invisible manacles were binding my feet to the ground. Tom had cast the spell with the skill of a person who had performed it thousands of times before, for it shot at me with the speed of a cheetah. Despite its speed, however, it felt as if everything was occurring in slow motion.
The spell struck my chest, and I suddenly felt the most intense agony I had ever felt in my life. All thoughts fled from my mind, and later that day, as I was reminiscing the painful moment, I thought people didn't give the torture curse the credit it deserved.
I felt as if I was on fire, transparent flames licking every part of my body, while a thousand hot knives stabbed every inch of my skin repeatedly. It was pure anguish—the pain so intense that screams were leaving my mouth without any command from my brain.
Before, I had read fictional Wizarding books that spoke of the main character somehow resisting the Cruciatus Curse and not uttering a single shriek, but now I seriously doubted the possibility of such an event. The pain was so intense, so powerful, that there was no way anyone would ever be able to resist it or grow accustomed to it.
Thankfully, it only last about five seconds—thought for me, it felt like five years. I collapsed to the floor, my screams perishing in my throat.
At once, I burst into sobs of despair. I hadn't cried for a while, so in a way, the waterfall of tears cascading down my face felt good—soothing, even.
I hauled myself off the floor and pressed my legs to my chest in a fetal position, burying my wailing face in my knees. Even though the curse was lifted, the terror, torment and sheer fright I felt was enough to evoke violent weeps from me.
I heard the faint sounds of footsteps coming my way, but I did not care. I decided I'd rather be killed than feel this way.
I felt fingers pull my head up by my hair, and through my tear-blurred vision, I could make out Tom's chiseled face, a smile of cruel amusement on his light pink lips. He brought his hand down from my hair to my cheek, wiping the tears from my face—which did nothing, because more tears leaked out of my eyes to replace them. He continued stroking my cheek in a taunting sort of way, his grin never leaving his face.
"You'll know better than to question my power now," he told me, his voice mockingly sympathetic. "And don't worry; even with these disgusting tears staining your face, you still look as beautiful as ever."
A merry chuckle escaped his lips at those words, as if he had told the most amusing joke in the world. And with that, he removed his hand from my face and stood up, wiping his fingers off on his robes.
"Tears are for the weak, Viviette," he informed me coolly, all previous malicious mirth drained from his face. "I suggest you train yourself to better control your emotions. Your crying is revolting, even if you are pretty."
With a final sneer, he spun on his heel and stalked out of the room, as if he hadn't just tortured someone. I sniffled, before another uncontrollable wail left my mouth.
That day, I decided that I detested Tom Riddle more than anything in the world—even more than the death eaters who had so mercilessly murdered my mother, because even if they had performed the nefarious deed, it was all because of him.
I loathed him, and I would do everything in my power to make him crumble—the way he just made me crumble.