Chapter 3
An ancient, dusty stillness enveloped the office. My fingers brushed the leather armrests of the chair as I sat watching Headmaster Dippet sort through his papers. He barely raised his eyes when he addressed me.“The records show that you received your prior education at Beauxbatons. Is this correct?”
“Maybe the records are lying.“ The weight of sarcasm in my tone was hard to miss, but I couldn't help myself. I just wanted to leave this cramped office, and expressing a bit of attitude felt like a shortcut to the door.
The office was so quiet that when the parchment he held rustled, it sounded like a high-pitched squeal. His eyes flickering up from the mess of documents.
I finally exhaled, cutting the tension myself. This man was not amusing. “Yes, I was at Beauxbatons.”
This time, he lifted his head, an almost startled look crossing his face. “Ah, yes, yes,” he muttered, his fingers tapping softly against the desk as though trying to wake himself up and I wondered what characteristics had this man appointed as the headmaster. “Well, Miss Moreau, I must admit, you’ve got quite a lot to catch up on.” Doubt flickered in his eyes. “The Hogwarts curriculum is quite different from what you’ve accustomed yourself to. Beauxbatons focuses on grace, elegance, social graces, and all that, while Hogwarts is, how shall I say this? Well, Hogwarts is more serious about the science of magical study..”
My countenance remained composed. However, It took all of my strength to not roll my eyes, but all I needed to stop myself was to remind myself that my reputation was already hanging by a thread after the chaos that ensued yesterday. “With all due respect Professor, I do not see where you‘re getting at.“
“I’m saying this for your own well-being, of course. It’s not a simple transition. Are you sure that a young lady such as yourself has the mental strength and the intellect to catch up on so much?”
His words dripped with condescension, and for an instant, I almost let my face reveal the irritation I felt. But no, this wasn’t the time. I inhaled deeply and smoothened out my expression, as well as I could manage, given the evident misogyny in his statement. Afterall, I saw an opportunity present itself vividly and all I needed was a slight push. I leaned forward, my elbows propped on the table. “Of course, I completely understand and I thank you for your heartwarming concern. Rest assured my education is as important to me as it is to you, which is why I am equally worried. Perhaps catching up with my peers will prove very exhausting and well- Unless..“
I let the sentence trail off, my lips barely parting as if the thought had only just occurred to me.
“Unless?“ He repeated.
I tilted my head, letting my smile grow a touch shy, just a glimmer of improvised hesitation in my eyes. “Unless someone helps me, of course.” I straightened my posture, “Someone like… a prefect, perhaps? Someone responsible, who can ensure I adapt as quickly as possible.”
The silence that followed felt calculated.I held back and let him have more than a sufficient time to allow my suggestion to marinate. It was clear this was taking all his brain power when, once more, his fingers tapped against the desk. But when they stilled, and the slight curve of his mouth indicated something, I knew right away what was coming.
“Ah!“, he lifted an index when the gears stopped turning in his head. “I imagine you are referring to someone like Mr. Riddle?“
I loosened my grip on the chair's armrest. I had set the bait, and he had taken it. Naturally, he would suggest his name. It was the only one that made sense—the only one with the kind of influence and charm that would make a blind fool like Dippet view him as the ideal mentor.
“Riddle?” I repeated, feigning a slight frown of confusion. “I’ve heard the name in passing.”
His face lit up as though he had just spoken of a prodigal son. "Ah, yes, Tom Riddle. A truly remarkable student." He leaned in a little, as if getting ready to impart a splendid secret. "No doubt about it, he is the brightest mind in this school. Intelligent beyond his years, diligent, charming—everything a young man ought to be. I'm sure with his guidance, you‘ll adapt in no time, Miss Moreau.“
I almost scoffed at his words. How could he be the one speaking on intellect when monsters were roaming the walls of the castle he called home? Then again, as much as his utter blindness was laughable, I wondered whether I would have fallen prey to Tom Riddle‘s persona was I to not hold any knowledge of the creature he was on the path of becoming. My smile was tight. “That sounds ideal, Headmaster. I would be most grateful for his help.”
Dippet was clearly satisfied with the conclusion, “I’ll make the arrangements in no time.“
I stood and smoothed the fabric of my skirt. “Thank you.” I said, giving him one last nod and turned away. Tom Riddle was nothing but a storm I had no intention of letting wreak havoc without me standing in its path and because proximity was the key, the headmaster, with all his misplaced admiration, had handed it to me on a silver platter.
When I pushed open the door, I could hear the faint scratching of a quill on parchment, a sound that abruptly stopped as soon as I took a step outside. Sitting on the bench just beyond the door, legs elegantly crossed, was a boy. His eyes lifted to meet mine, dark lashes casting shadows against his high cheekbones. The quill, now poised between his fingers, hovered over the parchment as he had been interrupted mid-thought. His lips curved into a polite smile. He rose fluidly from the bench, folding the parchment with meticulous precision, tucking it into his robes before stepping toward me. “He is correct, you know. Riddle is most admirable.“
“You were eavesdropping.“ I stated, my voice betraying none of my annoyance. “That is quite rude, don’t you think?”
“It was not by choice,” he said, raising his hands in mock defense. “I was sitting here when the conversation drifted through the door. Words have a way of finding the wrong ears at times.” There was no sharpness in his tone, only the slightest hint of humor. He had a way with words, that much was clear.
My face remained unreadable. “Are you his friend or his fan?“
Both. Neither.
He smiled once more, an effortless lift of his lips. He radiated genuine elegance and poise. Though it was clearly not false, but inherent to him. Before I could react, he had taken my hand and brought it to his mouth. “Je m‘appelle Adrien Rosier.“ {The name is Adrien Rosier.}
The name resonated in my memory. Rosier. A part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. A name with significance in the pureblood world, one rich with history and intertwined with power. And yet, I couldn't picture this boy. I had no knowledge of him, no understanding of what to expect. There was danger in ignorance.
I withdrew my hand slowly so as to not offend him. Making enemies of Tom Riddle‘s allies would not play in my favor.
He did not take my lack of response personal and his voice dropped to a whisper, “Well, I am afraid it is my turn to go endure Dippet‘s ramblings.“ He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "This is the last time I'm taking the fall for that imbecile."
I had no idea who he was talking about and frowned. He must have seen my puzzled look because he went on to clarify, "One of my so-called friends. I'm sure you'll meet him soon. He attracts attention like a circus clown."
“Oh I‘m sure I will if he has already managed to land himself in trouble before classes even started.“ I remarked.
To that, a laugh escaped him before we both parted in opposite directions, I to my common room and he to the office, though before he opened it, he called out to me once more, “Hey! I did not catch your name.“
“You already know it, Rosier.“ My response came out with an amused smile. “Words have a way of finding the wrong ears, remember?“
Another laugh made its way to my ears before I turned the corner.
By the time I remained seated on the broad stone windowsill, the sky had already started to darken and was filled with streaks of orange and violet. The sun had long since dropped below the horizon, and twilight shaded itself into night—all while I was blissfully unaware of how many hours had passed. The air outside cooled, a soft breeze fluttering in through the crack of the window, stirring the pages of the schedule glued to my thighs. I barely looked at the ink smudged from my fingers absentmindedly tracing the lines of cramped classes I hadn’t even begun to care about.
The soft hum of conversation wafted down the corridor, a buzz of bewildered first-year students attempting to navigate the convoluted layout of the castle. The occasional curse word or frustrated sigh echoed up toward me, causing the faintest smile to tug at the corner of my lips. Entertaining, if nothing else.
A girl with dark curls yanked her friend by the sleeve, and they scurried toward the sound of voices in the distance, finally on the right track, it seemed, though leaving a group of lost sheep behind. I watched them go with unblinking eyes. Would I have felt equally lost if I had not, perched on this windowsill, felt the sense of belonging I did? The castle had felt eerily familiar from the moment I entered it. I might have easily believed I had walked its corridors a thousand times before in some distant, forgotten life. Nonetheless, with that understanding came an eerie sensation I couldn't shake. I could remember this place, yet had only a hazy concept of my life before it. I could remember what I would see was I to push the door in front of me open and yet I could not remember how I had spent my past birthdays. My memory was a blank slate save for the most dangerous name etched into it—Tom Riddle.
There was danger in ignorance.
My thoughts had been interrupted, however, by a red-haired hufflepuff tugging at my sleeve. “Excuse me, Miss?“ I lifted up my head. “We’re lost, could you maybe help us-“
"Lost, are you?" A voice interrupted.
The first years stiffened. The girl with the dark curls nodded quickly as she snapped her body around, her eyes wide at the sight of the Slytherin prefect. “We—uh, we can’t find the Great Hall,” she stammered. “Dinner started a while ago, and we—"
His brow arched. "Dinner started thirty minutes ago. If you are lost, it is simply because you’re not paying attention. Hogwarts is vast, yes, but not impossible to navigate if you use your wits and the maps that have been provided to all first years."
The girl paled, and her friend shifted nervously beside her. Riddle’s gaze flicked between them, and then, with a wave of his hand, he gestured down the corridor. "Go left, take the third staircase down, and you'll find the Great Hall. You’d best hurry before the food vanishes.” If disinterest was in his tone, he did not let it show.
“Thank you, sir—”
“Don’t make it a habit of getting lost again.” He cut them off, his voice threaded with an implicit warning.
The first years, barely containing their relief, stumbled away quickly, casting only one last glance over their shoulders as they hurried to follow his directions. Tom’s eyes lingered on them for a moment longer before his attention returned to me, seated on the stone ledge as though I hadn’t a care in the world.
"You should know," he began, “Skipping meals is frowned upon.”
I leaned back against the cool stone. “I don’t need directions, if that’s what you’re offering.”
Riddle stepped closer, "No, I imagine not. You seem more resourceful than most."
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said, my gaze meeting his head-on.
He tilted his head, though the chill in his eyes remained. “It was meant as one. I simply find it curious. You seem very comfortable here, for someone who arrived just yesterday. I do not recall having that much of a good sense of direction on my first day.”
“Well, you can just consider it one thing I’m better at than you,” I quipped lightly as I raised an index and a fist to embody the score. “Cecile 1, Tom 0.”
His expression did not budge in the slightest, though the air between us had crystallized under his indifference. “I‘d advise you to not address me by my first name. We are not personal for you to assume such familiarity.“ His tone carried a cold edge to it when he added, “Unless you had mistakenly assumed otherwise, Moreau?”
What else should I have called you? ‘Voldemort‘, ‘He who must not be named‘, ‘My lord‘, ‘Orphan‘.
“Perhaps I should remind you that you are the one who keeps approaching me, Riddle. Not the other way around.“
His jaw muscle twitched. It was nothing, really, but I saw it. His eyes narrowed. "Perhaps," he began, his voice dripping with a mockery so subtle it almost passed as sincerity, "It is because Headmaster Dippet seems to think you’re in need of assistance. Imagine my surprise when I was told that a frightened little transfer student had been soliciting my help. How could I refuse such a heartfelt plea?"
“You make it sound like I’m begging at your feet," I said, "And here I thought I was just making the most of the resources available. If Dippet’s little golden boy happens to be one of them, who am I to refuse?"
After a beat, he answered, his voice lowered a fraction. "Careful. Arrogance does not suit someone in your position."
"And what position is that, exactly?" I challenged, "The one where I have the audacity to not be intimidated by you?“
I knew that I was testing the waters to see how far I could push before he reacted. Ego is a treacherous thing, you see. A double-edged sword that was capable of elevating or destroying, depending on how it is wielded. How unfair it was that Tom Riddle‘s one was well-hidden and too far from anyone‘s grasp. I’d never been good at yielding either. Pride had always been my undoing, and it was a shovel, digging my own grave.
“I can see why Dippet was concerned,” he finally answered, each word delivered like a knife wrapped in silk, “Perhaps I do need to keep an eye on you, Moreau. After all, we wouldn’t want you getting lost, now would we?”
‘You forget your place‘, is what he undoubtedly meant.
He constructed a fortress, laying it out brick by brick. Anyone who so much as tested the walls found themselves on the outside, shivering in the cold. However, cowering under the likes of Tom Riddle, a boy so wrapped in his own legend that he believed himself invincible meant I’d have to let him think he was the storm, and I, the leaf, blown in whichever direction he pleased.
But that, of course, would be my greatest deception.
I bit my tongue, swallowing down whatever retort hung on my tongue. Surely, my silence satisfied him enough because he turned away and headed back to whichever rat hole he crawled out of. My eyes drilled on his back.
Cecile 1. Tom 1.