The ball
While Tom’s mind raced with the implications of a ball he had never even heard of—his thoughts dark and determined—across the castle, Cecilia sat by a window, quill in hand, staring into the swirling mist of the night reflected upon the Black Lake. She had written a handful of letters to Vinda, but none seemed appropriate. It didn’t feel right to question her—Vinda always knew better. Cecilia had to accept and wait, just as she always had. Her whole life had been out of her hands.
She was waiting for others to tell her what to do, even though she was more than capable of making her own decisions. Tom was the opposite. His pureblood friends could brag about their grand traditions all they wanted, but in the end, they would tell him anything they considered important. It was his approval they sought.
In a way, Cecilia was a soldier—a loyal and relentless one. Tom was a leader—cruel and deranged. Yet, they were both just children who had seen, done, and learned things their peers could only dream of. Their lives had shaped them this way. But could they, in turn, shape their lives to match their desires?
Certainly, there was one man who believed so.
Albus Dumbledore was not just a simple professor—he was a great wizard, in terms of both ability and heart. When he had met Tom Riddle years before, he had seen something different in him, something unnerving. Even at eleven, the boy had been cold and calculating. And when Cecilia Boucher had walked into the Great Hall, something in her mannerisms had been familiar. Not her features, but the way she carried herself. He had seen that walk before.
He watched them both carefully, hoping they would choose their own fates, even though he feared they had been doomed from the start.
Cecilia’s unease only grew when Vinda finally wrote back. The letter was plain and distant. She stated that work was keeping them busy and that they wouldn’t have time to write in the future. Then, almost as an afterthought, she added:
A wise mentor, like your favorite professor, would do you good.
The message was clear. Get close to Dumbledore.
But how was she supposed to do that naturally? Neither of them liked each other.
—
“Is everything okay?” Druella asked, frowning as she noticed the color drain from Cecilia’s face.
“It is,” Cecilia said quickly, though her expression said otherwise. “Just got a letter from home.”
“I haven’t seen you get one in a long time.”
Cecilia forced a smile. “Muggle world keeps them busy, you know.”
Druella smirked. “Actually, I don’t.”
“Oh, right,” Cecilia muttered. “You wizards know nothing about them.”
“I do know they can make excellent pastries. French bakeries are proof of that.”
“Absolutely.”
Druella tilted her head. “Since your parents are so busy, they wouldn’t mind your absence over the spring break, right?”
Cecilia blinked. “What do you mean?”
“My parents said I could invite you to our house for the break. And then we could go to the Lestrange dinner party together.”
Cecilia was taken aback, and Druella, noticing her hesitation, pressed on.
“Adrian told me I could invite you. Probably so I wouldn’t pay attention to whatever Dominique is up to. But you should come.”
“I’ll talk to my parents,” Cecilia said, though they both knew it was a formality. “I’d really love to go.”
“I’m sure they’ll allow it. It’ll be so nice to have you there!” Druella wrapped her arms around Cecilia’s neck, pulling her into a tight hug.
“I’ll write to them after class,” Cecilia promised.
The comfort she had always sought in Vinda—funny enough—was found in another Rosier. Druella was the sister and friend she had always wanted.
Although she would never admit it, she feared her ties to Grindelwald and her aunt would ruin the only genuine friendship she had ever known.
Soft. She was becoming soft, just because someone cared for her.
It was the first time in her life.
—
Transfiguration had never been a challenge for Cecilia, so she had never needed to ask questions or flaunt her flawless execution.
But today, that was exactly what she intended to do.
With a smooth flick of her wand, the wooden goblet before her melted into a silver chalice, polished to perfection.
It was better than anyone else’s attempt. And that couldn’t go unnoticed.
“A remarkable attempt, Miss Boucher,” Dumbledore remarked as he approached her desk.
“Thank you, sir.” She smiled.
“However, you will find that Transfiguration is not simply about control.” His eyes glimmered as he added, “Magic, like people, can always be more than what it seems at first.”
Her smile faded.
“Twenty points to Slytherin,” he finished before walking to the center of the room.
Druella rolled her eyes and squeezed Cecilia’s hand under the desk. They remained silent for the rest of the lesson.
Cecilia knew Dumbledore wasn’t talking about Transfiguration. He was calling her out.
If only Grindelwald hadn’t been so vague in their conversations about the professor, maybe she would have known what to expect. But the way Dumbledore’s gaze lingered on her throughout the lesson was a sure sign—
He saw right through her act.
Her approach would have to change.
She had to make it seem like she needed his help.
—
“I can’t believe Dumbledore,” Druella huffed as they entered the Great Hall. “What was that supposed to mean?”
“I know,” Cecilia muttered. “I’m never trying in his class again.”
“What?” Dominique Rosier smirked as he joined them. “You two are already sick of Dumbledore?”
“Very,” Druella said. “He’s rude for no reason.”
“Get used to it. He’s always played favorites with Gryffindor,” Abraxas Malfoy added as he sat down.
“What did he do this time?” Dominique asked.
“Cecilia was the only one who got his test right, and instead of praising her, he gave her some speech about how Transfiguration goes beyond magic.” Druella rolled her eyes.
Dominique chuckled. “That does sound like him.”
“Let’s not waste more time talking about him,” Abraxas said. “Has Adrian invited you two to the ball?”
“Of course he has,” Druella said as if the question was absurd.
Dominique frowned slightly but said nothing.
“Well, see you there, then.” Malfoy stood up, and Dominique followed.
“Where are you going?” Druella called after her brother.
“I’m an important man, dear sister.” He winked.
Cecilia watched them leave, wondering what could be so important that they always disappeared early. But there were more pressing matters to focus on.
Getting close to Dumbledore.
Later that night, while Druella and Catherine Greengrass, her roommates, slept, Cecilia finally wrote to Vinda about the break. There was no reason they wouldn’t allow it.
Even Tom would be gone—Abraxas had made sure to mention that. It was strange. It almost felt like Malfoy wanted to get closer to her.
—
Tom felt relieved when Abraxas invited him to Malfoy Manor. Others would consider it a favor, but to them, it was only natural.
Tom knew he was different from Malfoy and the others. But in the end, his place among them would be more important than anyone else’s.
The ball would be an opportunity. Not just to escape the cold, uncomfortable orphanage—but to make himself known.
Not that he cared for pureblood society.
But information was power.
And with everything happening in Europe because of Grindelwald—
He needed it.
Hogsmeade Station was particularly charming this time of year.
Cecilia was eager to leave Hogwarts for the first time, but nothing compared to Druella’s excitement when she told her that her parents had allowed the trip.
The train ride was filled with chatter and laughter. Catherine mentioned she would also be attending the ball, and the three of them eagerly agreed to go shopping for dresses together.
When they arrived at Platform 9¾, they were met by Mrs. and Mr. Rosier, who greeted Druella and Dominique with bright smiles before turning to Cecilia with kindness. She couldn’t help but notice how much Dominique resembled Vinda.
The Rosiers were welcoming. Their home was warm, grand, but not in a way that felt suffocating.
Just like that, Cecilia felt at home.
She could only wish Vinda hadn’t distanced herself from them. Maybe then they could have been a real family.
—
The Malfoys had done the same for Tom.
But while Cecilia found warmth in the Rosier household, Tom felt nothing but jealousy.
He should have been the one to live in a mansion. He should have been the one with a library filled with books he could read endlessly.
—
The Lestranges had spared no expense.
The walls were lined with ornate tapestries, the tables adorned with crystal goblets and endless plates of food. Pureblood society thrived on spectacle, and tonight was no exception.
Cecilia, Druella, Dominique, and their parents arrived with a bit of tardiness, delayed by Dominique’s business at the Ministry.
The two girls immediately spotted Catherine, and Dominique followed them before slipping off to join his own group.
Druella led the way with her usual confidence, while Cecilia took in the room with careful eyes.
She had been in grand places before, but this was different.
Here, she wasn’t a quiet observer. Here, she had to play her role carefully.
"Finally," Malfoy drawled as they approached. "We were beginning to think you weren’t coming."
Druella scoffed. "As if I’d miss the chance to dress up for something like this."
Catherine laughed, but Cecilia remained quiet, her gaze shifting between the boys.
Tom was watching her.
Always watching.
She was getting used to it by now.
"Are we supposed to pretend this is fun?" Dominique muttered, adjusting his cuffs. "Or are we allowed to admit we’d rather be anywhere else?"
"Not all of us have the luxury of skipping social obligations," Adrian Lestrange remarked. "Some of us actually have to keep up appearances."
Cecilia caught the glance Adrian threw at Tom. It was brief but deliberate.
Before anyone could respond, a figure approached.
Tall, elegant, unreadable.
There was something in his gaze that lingered on Cecilia a moment too long.
"Adrian, dear cousin," the man said smoothly, "do you mind if I steal your lovely friend for a dance?"
Adrian smirked slightly. "Ask the lady, cousin."
The man turned to Cecilia, offering his hand. "May I have this dance?"
Cecilia hesitated.
She knew who he was. Or at least what he was.
A man tied to Grindelwald.
A messenger in the middle of all this.
Her pulse quickened, but she kept her expression calm.
"Of course."
She placed her hand in his, letting him lead her to the dance floor.
Druella and Abraxas, Catherine and Dominique followed soon after.
The music swelled around them, the low hum of conversation fading as they moved in practiced steps.
"I was surprised to see you here," he murmured.
"I was invited," she replied simply.
He smiled, a knowing sort of smile. "Of course." A pause. "Vinda sends her regards."
Cecilia kept her face carefully neutral. "She’s well, then?"
"As well as she can be." He twirled her effortlessly. "Things are changing. But you already know that."
She did.
Grindelwald’s movement was growing. And she had no doubt Vinda was deeply involved.
But this wasn’t the place to discuss it.
"You should know," he said, voice low, "Gellert will have a task for you soon. More than ever, stay focused."
Cecilia’s fingers tensed against his shoulder, but she kept her expression smooth.
Across the ballroom, Tom Riddle watched.
He had been watching since the moment she placed her hand in the man’s.
But now, his interest sharpened.
Their conversation was too long. Their movements too deliberate.
Their familiarity too easy.
By the time the dance ended and Cecilia returned to their group, the question was inevitable.
"What was that about?" Druella asked, her eyes sharp.
Cecilia took a sip of her drink before answering.
"He was curious about Hogwarts," she said smoothly. "He went to Durmstrang, so he wanted to know if he missed out."
Tom’s expression didn’t change, but his gaze flickered toward Adrian.
"He’s your cousin, then?"
Adrian frowned slightly. "Distantly. I don’t know him well."
Tom’s fingers curled around his glass.
Interesting.
He said nothing more, filing the information away for later.
For now, he would watch.
Cecilia, too lost in thought over the task awaiting her, didn’t notice his gaze.