"What an excellent badger, Miss Swan," praised Dumbledore as he wandered around the Transfiguration classroom, nodding at the badger I was petting approvingly. He glimpsed over at Maverick next to me, an amused smile playing on his lips. "Ah—well, better luck next time, Mr. Avery."
He winked at us and sauntered away, a twinkle in his brilliant blue eyes. I snickered at Maverick, who was eyeing his furry cauldron with a miserable expression on his face.
"How are you so good?" he groaned, crossing his arms across his chess petulantly.
"Practice makes perfect," I sang cheerily, causing Maverick to huff in a bad-tempered fashion.
The bell rang, announcing our dismissal. The unpleasant sound of chairs scraping against the floor as students got off their seats wrecked our eardrums, and I winced slightly as I stood up from my own seat.
I petted my badger one last time before transforming it back into a cauldron with a simple flick of my wand, and gathered my spellbooks in my hands. Maverick, on the other hand, just glared at his breathing cauldron annoyedly as he attempted to turn it back to its normal state.
"Come on, you stupid thing!" he grouched, whacking the furry cauldron with his wand.
I giggled and brandished my own wand, successfully managing to turn the cauldron-badger hybrid back into a normal cauldron.
"Thanks," Maverick grumbled as I pocketed my wand, a smirk decorating my face.
The two of us started making our way out of the class, Maverick looking as if he had swallowed a particularly sour lemon, when someone blocked our way.
I blinked as my eyes met a pair of cold blue ones. "Er—hi?"
"Callie," Maverick greeted, sounding surprised. "What's up?"
"We have a meeting this evening in the Room of Requirement," Callum Mulciber proclaimed curtly. "The Dark Lord asked me to notify you."
He nodded towards me, and before I could respond, he spun around and stalked away. I gawped after him, my brain struggling to process the information.
"Great!" Maverick enthused, a beam on his face. "I've been waiting for one for so long."
"You're weird," I retorted, shaking my head disappointedly at him. "Why the hell would you be waiting for a meeting hosted by a sicko?"
At once, all traces of elation faded from Maverick's face, and he frowned disapprovingly at me, an action so uncharacteristic of him that I was momentarily taken aback.
"I like you, Vivid, but you can't just insult the Dark Lord like that," he scolded, causing me to roll my eyes.
"Whatever."
Despite my physical nonchalance, I felt absolutely overwhelmed by the news of this upcoming meeting. How was I going to face Tom?
I parted ways with Maverick and headed to the library—one of the only places where I felt truly safe, without the weight of my roommates or Tom lingering on my shoulders. I decided to study for my O.W.L.s, which were fast approaching.
But thoughts of Tom still circled in my mind as I flipped through the pages of my spellbook. The mere thought of this evening made me feel stressed, but I knew that this would be the perfect opportunity to make amends with Tom—to convince him that his undoubted feelings for me were okay.
The perfect opportunity to, perhaps, start the process of changing him for the better.
•
It's going to be okay, I tried to reassure myself on the way to the Room of Requirement that evening, dusk falling over the castle grounds like a comforting blanket. He's just going to blabber on about death eater duties, and then you'll have the chance to talk to him.
I felt like a prisoner being sentenced to death as I trudged up the staircases to the seventh floor, dread wrapping its cold hands around my heart. Even the comical tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy teaching trolls ballet couldn't uplift my mood, the way it usually did.
I stood before the coffee-colored wall that was the entrance to the Room, and closed my eyes, pacing backwards and forwards as I thought of Tom's lavish meeting room. After pacing back and forth thrice, I opened my eyes to see that familiar, intricately carved door forming on the wall.
With a sigh, I stretched out my hand and pulled the door open, before walking inside reluctantly.
As always, I was stripped of my breath at the majestic room—the endless ceiling, the cobra statues, the throne-like chair that Tom was currently occupying—
"You're late."
I blinked, glancing up to make eye-contact with Tom—who, to my surprise, displayed the slightest hint of discomfort. Apparently, he seemed to be dreading seeing me as much as I was dreading seeing him.
"My apologies," I drawled, with a slight hint of sarcasm. "It won't happen again."
"For your own sake, I hope it won't," Tom retorted. "Sit."
Despite his dangerously calm and steady manner, I knew he felt discomforted by my presence—maybe it was the way we weren't really making eye-contact, because he was staring at the space between my brows instead of my eyes, or his slightly clenched jaw, or the way he was subtly adjusting his Slytherin tie. Either way, his anxiety made me more confident.
I complied by his orders and sat down—right next to him. From the way he tilted his body slightly so he wouldn't have to be facing me, I knew he was regretting the seating arrangements.
"Friends," he spoke in his high, cold tone. "As you all know, our O.W.L. examinations are nearing. Despite my already perfect performances in all of my classes, I have also been studying like the rest of you. However, unlike the rest of you, I have also been paying much more frequent visits to the Chamber. And I am happy to inform you all that my plans of immortality will all be achieved in a very short amount of time."
I felt my heart sink to the pit of my stomach as the rest of the death eaters all stared up at Tom in evident admiration. That clearly meant that he was planning on making his first Horcrux—which meant he was ready to kill someone.
As I registered that terrible thought, I realized who exactly his victim was going to be—Moaning Myrtle. She was the girl who had been killed by the Basilisk residing in the Chamber of Secrets—meaning she was the girl that Tom killed.
While I was brooding over all these horrifying facts, Tom had continued his speech. I was probably the only death eater not listening; everyone else was watching him with wide, awestruck eyes—as if he was some type of powerful god who was capable of doing the most incredible things.
"...while I continue with my noble work, I need you all to ensure that no one starts to suspect us," Tom drawled, his tone cold and harsh. "The time for killing and truly purging the school of Mudbloods is soon approaching, and we must make sure that we aren't suspected. Am I clear?"
A chorus of "Yes, my Lord"s followed his words. Tom leaned back against his chair with a satisfied expression on his face, observing all of his faithful followers coolly.
"Good," he noted. "Then I will see you all in our next meeting. You're free to go."
The sound of chairs scraping against the floor as the boys all stood up filled the room, but I stayed planted in my seat. One by one, they all left, leaving the lavish room empty—and Tom continued to sit in his chair contemplatively, clearly attempting to disregard my presence.
At last, he seemed to be unable to keep doing so—or maybe he just realized I wasn't planning on leaving like the rest.
"You can go," he spoke up, clearing his throat awkwardly. I only smiled coldly at him.
"No, thank you," I retorted. "I'm staying here."
Tom blinked, but other than that, his face remained utterly impassive. "Go."
"You're going to kill someone," I stated, shaking my head in disappointment. "You—you can't, Tom. I get that you want to be immortal, but there must be other ways—"
"None as effective as this," he cut in impatiently. "And I don't recall asking for your opinion."
"You can't do this," I insisted, standing up from my chair determinedly. "You're only sixteen. You can't become a murderer at sixteen!"
"Don't tell me what I can or cannot do," Tom snapped, glaring up at me fiercely. "Do you want a repeat of the Cruciatus Curse?"
"Oh, we're threatening each other now, are we?" I riposted with a bitter arch of my brow. "Then how about this: Do you want a repeat of the Restricted Section?"
At once, his chalky complexion turned into a light hue of pink and he clenched his jaw in evident irritation.
"You little—" he paused and clenched his eyes shut tightly, as if he was attempting to soothe himself. "You're lucky I haven't—I—you have no right—you shameless, insolent girl."
His eyes snapped open in anger as he glared down at me with an expression of scorching hatred. He jolted out of his chair, glowering down at me as if he thought he could intimidate me. I continued to occupy my seat, and smirked up at him knowingly.
"You do, don't you?" I drawled smugly. "That's why you're so angry."
His fury halted momentarily. "I—no. I don't want anything."
I stood up as well, now being able to stare right into his eyes. My smile grew at the uncertain way his eyes flickered from my lips to my eyes, the indecision between what his heart wanted versus what his brain warned him against becoming exceedingly prominent.
"Go on," I whispered. "Kiss me."
He swallowed, and looked so stunned that I wasn't sure whether I was staring at Tom Riddle anymore—the helpless expression on his face made him look like an entirely different person.
"I—I can't—what will my followers—I mean, I don't want—you—"
I couldn't help it; a chuckle left my lips as I watched him stumble over his words, the charismatic Tom Riddle losing his cool.
"Your followers?" I repeated incredulously. "You're seriously worried about what they think? You're Tom Riddle; you don't need anyone's permission to do what you want."
Tom blinked, and opened his mouth as if he wanted to respond, but then closed it again. We made intense eye-contact for a couple of seconds that felt like hours, and it was only broken when Tom finally wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed me.
He was still evidently inexperienced, but this kiss was much more confident than the last one—it was full of passionate longing, nothing like the desperate, uncertain first kiss that we had shared in the library. I resisted the urge to smirk as I wrapped my arms around his neck—this was it. I did it—I finally had him right where I wanted him.
He pulled away after some time—it could've been a few seconds, or a few minutes, or a few hours, or maybe a few years—and stared at me as if he had never seen a person before in his life. I smiled in a faux display of coyness at him, inwardly bursting with pride at the fact that I had made Tom Riddle develop feelings for me.
"I—you can't tell anyone about this," Tom murmured breathlessly.
"I won't," I assured him, my smile growing slightly. I tucked a stray wisp of my hair behind my ear carefully. "I guess I'll go now."
I waited for his reply, but he only stared at me, as if he was in shock. Perhaps he didn't expect to ever willingly kiss a girl. His mind was so preoccupied with thoughts of power and murder that he probably never thought of romance—or if he did, he probably brushed it off as something silly and overly sentimental, a waste of time.
I spun around and slowly started to walk towards the exit of the majestic room, when he suddenly spoke up: "No—wait."
I turned around and cocked an eyebrow up at him. "Yes?"
At my words, he shook his head as if to empty it of whatever thoughts occupied it. He seemed to regret speaking up.
"Er—nothing," he muttered. "I—well, I just...I wanted to ask you a question."
"Yes?"
Tom hesitated, which didn't surprise me; he had been acting completely out of character for the past hour, and his hesitation—though it would normally bewilder me greatly—was of no surprise anymore.
"You and Avery," he said finally, his voice slow and unsure. "You're...friends?"
I blinked; his question was completely unexpected. "Er—yes. Why?"
"I was curious," Tom responded begrudgingly, staring at my forehead instead of my eyes again. "You seem...close."
I tried to resist a smirk, but couldn't. I quirked a brow up at him teasingly, and barely contained the laugh that threatened to leave me.
"Don't tell me you're jealous?" I giggled, which instantly melted whatever tension had filled the room.
"Jealous?" he scoffed and scowled, reverting back to the Tom Riddle that I knew. "Why would I be jealous of that dimwitted dolt?"
I shrugged, a playful smirk still playing on my lips. "You never know."
"I think it's time you leave," Tom retorted, the irritation in his voice almost palpable.
I let out a small laugh and nodded, a broad grin painting my lips. I started to make my way out of the Room of Requirement, my heart suddenly feeling light again—I did it; my mission, once seeming so hopeless, was now on the road to success.
I glanced back at him before I left, to see that he was still standing in that same spot, his eyes following my every move like a hawk.
"Goodbye, Tom."