A strange thing indeed
Violet moved through the dim corridors of Hogwarts, her footsteps soft against the cold stone floor. The flickering torchlight painted eerie shadows that danced around her, as if the castle walls themselves whispered secrets. Theo trailed behind her, as usual, yapping about something inconsequential. His energy, so boundless this early in the day, grated on her nerves—but it was also oddly comforting. He had been her companion since their second year, an unrelenting force of chaos that had glued their friendship together. Theo had introduced her to the rest of their tight-knit group, a cluster of Slytherins whom others referred to as "the Slytherin gang." The boys relished the moniker; it fed their egos and reinforced their reputation. Violet, however, found it burdensome.
She never sought power or authority. She never wished to see fear flash in the eyes of first-years as she passed by. Yet, her family name and her associations left her little choice in how others perceived her. She was Violet Alas, a name whispered with both admiration and trepidation. She sighed, her thoughts churning as she pushed open the heavy door to the Potions classroom.
The room was dimly lit, filled with the earthy smell of brewing ingredients. Violet slid into her seat beside Oliver, the quiet boy Professor Riddle had humiliated not fifteen minutes ago. Oliver greeted her with a warm, tentative smile, adjusting his glasses nervously.
"You okay?" she asked, pulling her books from her bag.
"Yeah," he replied, his voice tinged with determination. "I'll show him next time. I'll learn every spell and every potion to perfection. Then we'll see who's arrogant."
Violet smirked. At least I'm not the only one who sees Riddle's arrogance. Before she could reply, the ever-cheerful Professor Slughorn swept into the room, his booming voice breaking the tension.
"Good morning, class! Today we'll be brewing Alihotsy Draught. Beware—its fumes can induce hysterical laughter. Harmless, but terribly inconvenient if you're unprepared. You'll be working in pairs. Off you go!"
Violet barely registered his words. She flipped through her book, making meticulous notes in the margins. Potions came naturally to her, a rare skill in a world where many students struggled to follow even the simplest recipes. She preferred working alone, which suited Oliver just fine. While he chopped ingredients, Violet found herself stirring the potion in a trance, her mind wandering to darker places.
Her thoughts drifted to her brother, Julius. She hadn't written to him in a week. What could she even say? Should she confront him about the whispers of his involvement with the Death Eaters? Should she warn the Ministry? Her quill scratched against the parchment as her inner turmoil deepened.
"Violet?" Oliver's voice cut through the fog of her thoughts. She blinked, realizing he had been speaking for some time.
"What?" she asked, startled.
"I think it's done," he said gently. "And... are you okay? You've been distracted all year, like you're carrying some kind of weight."
She met his gaze. His concern was genuine, and it disarmed her. He was kind, despite the relentless bullying he endured from their classmates. Violet often told her friends to stop tormenting him, but they rarely listened. Slytherins respected power, and Oliver didn't fit their mold.
"I'm fine," she lied, her voice steady. But inside, her thoughts churned.
Later, Violet found herself walking to lunch, a book clutched in her hand as always. She was so engrossed in its pages that she didn't notice Theo until she collided with him. His hands caught her by the waist, steadying her. His trademark smirk spread across his face.
"Should watch where you're going, Alas," he teased. "Next time, I might not be here to catch you. Though I wouldn't mind you falling on me again."
She rolled her eyes, pushing his hands away. "Come on, let's eat."
As they walked into the Great Hall, the buzz of conversation surrounded them. Theo's presence drew jealous glances from other girls. He basked in their attention, but Violet was unfazed. They sat at their usual table, and her eyes instinctively drifted to the staff table. There he was—Professor Riddle, seated between Slughorn and McGonagall, speaking animatedly. His blue eyes, sharp and calculating, seemed to pierce through the room.
Their gazes met.
Her breath hitched. His stare was unflinching, predatory. She broke the connection, turning away quickly. She hated how he unsettled her, how he seemed to see through every facade she carefully constructed.
,, So about the party tonight, what are we wearing?" Eve was excitedly asking the girls breaking Violet from her thoughts.
,, I don't know something provocative surely, something that if my mother saw me in it she would kick me out while yelling whore" Bella's relationship with her mother is too complicated to even call it complicated, it's the major subject of Tuesday, when Druela's weekly letter arrives.
Violet opened her mouth to say something but Bella just pushed the pumpkin pie into them,, Sush, eat and let me take care of it" If Bella is taking care of something it's not good ,, Can't wait to see you tonight" Barty said while winking, a small smirk appearing on his full pink lips. ,, Fuck off Crouch" Belle barked back.
,, Do you think he wants us to get back together?" she asked as Barty strolled away, Violet shrugged ,,Who wouldn't want to get with you?"
Belle smiled at the comment before looking up at professor Riddle ,,Well.... I know who I'd like to get with"
That evening, the girls gathered in the dormitory to prepare for the party. Bellatrix was already pulling out dresses from her wardrobe, each one more revealing than the last.
"Choose one," Bella commanded, laying them out. Violet grimaced. None of them were her style, but she finally settled on a black dress that clung to her like a second skin.
"Perfect," Bella purred. "You're going to make an impression tonight."
Violet's legs wobbled slightly as she made her way down the corridor, the echo of her heels striking against the cold stone floor filling the silence. The classroom door loomed ahead, its dark wood faintly glimmering under the dim torchlight. She adjusted her green jumper nervously, pulling it lower over the indecently short dress Bella had insisted she wear. With a deep breath, she knocked on the door, her knuckles grazing the aged surface.
The silence that followed felt eternal before a low, composed voice beckoned her in. "Come in, Miss Alas."
She pushed the door open and stepped inside. Professor Riddle was seated at his desk, quill in hand, his eyes not lifting from the parchment in front of him. The flickering light from the torches cast sharp shadows across his features, making him look even more severe than usual. Violet hesitated at the threshold, her pulse hammering against her ribs.
"Take a seat," he said, his tone even, though there was a subtle undertone of command that left no room for argument. "Next to me."
Her stomach churned as she scanned the room for an available chair. She spotted one and dragged it closer to his desk, positioning it across from him.
"I said next to me," he repeated, his eyes finally meeting hers. They were like icy storms, their intensity freezing her in place. She muttered an apology and reluctantly moved the chair to sit beside him. The proximity was suffocating. She could feel the heat radiating off him, his presence both magnetic and overwhelming.
"You'll be helping me grade these," he said, sliding a stack of papers toward her. His long fingers brushed hers as he handed her a quill, and the brief contact sent an unbidden shiver down her spine.
Violet focused on the parchment before her, determined not to let her nervousness show. She tried to concentrate on marking the tests, but her mind kept drifting to the man seated so close to her. She was hyper-aware of his every movement, the faint scratch of his quill on paper, the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.
Tom, on the other hand, found himself equally distracted. He tried to read the words in front of him, but they blurred together as his gaze kept flickering to her. The hem of her dress rode up slightly as she shifted in her seat, revealing more of her pale thighs. His jaw clenched, and he forced his eyes back to his parchment. He could smell her perfume—a delicate blend of vanilla and something sweetly floral—and it was intoxicating.
"How do you grade these?" Violet asked, breaking the silence. Her voice was soft but steady, though she avoided looking directly at him.
He reached for her quill, his fingers deliberately brushing against hers again. "I'll show you," he said, his voice low. He leaned in closer, their knees touching beneath the desk. "Thirty points is the maximum. Deduct two points for each mistake. Every three points lost lowers the grade."
She nodded, her throat dry. The closeness was unbearable, yet she didn't move away. Her fingers trembled slightly as she continued marking the papers, the quill scratching against the parchment in uneven strokes. She could feel his gaze on her, heavy and unrelenting.
"What's the dress for?" he asked suddenly, his tone casual but his eyes anything but.
"A party," she replied, not meeting his gaze. "It starts at nine."
He leaned back, smirking. "You could have asked to reschedule detention. I'm not unreasonable, Miss Alas."
She swallowed hard. "I didn't want to inconvenience you."
He chuckled softly, a sound that sent a shiver down her spine. "How considerate."
The room seemed to grow colder, the shadows deepening as the silence stretched between them. Finally, she mustered the courage to ask the question that had been gnawing at her since summer. "Professor?"
He raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "Yes?"
She hesitated, her heart pounding. "Are you still friends with Julius? I mean, he's still in contact with some of his old classmates, so I thought..."
A slow, predatory smile spread across his face, and her stomach twisted in knots. "Why do you ask?"
She struggled to maintain her composure under his piercing gaze. "Just curious," she said, though she knew he wouldn't buy it.
He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk as he studied her intently. "We parted ways after Hogwarts," he said smoothly. "I sought knowledge abroad while he remained here to... take care of you."
There was something unsettling in the way he said it, and Violet couldn't shake the feeling that he knew more than he was letting on. She bit her lip, her thoughts racing. Did he know about Julius's involvement with the Death Eaters? Was he involved too? The idea sent a chill down her spine.
"Looks like our time is up," he said suddenly, glancing at the clock. "You should go. Enjoy your party."
She stood quickly, eager to escape the suffocating atmosphere. "Thank you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
As she turned to leave, she felt his eyes on her back, the weight of his gaze lingering long after she'd disappeared into the corridor. The air outside was cold and sharp, but it did little to dispel the heat that had risen to her cheeks. Her thoughts were a tangled mess, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd just played a game she didn't fully understand—and that Tom Riddle was always one step ahead.