Chapter 2
“There's a big difference on being wise and being crafty. The former is the attribute of God, and the latter is that of Satan.”
― Michael Bassey Johnson
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September 1st, the start of the school year, brought about both excitement and dread in droves in the students attending Hogwarts. For me, it brought relief. The summers in my family manor, although useful in some aspects, often felt like I was plunged into a dissociative nightmare, a plane of existence that wasn’t quite reality. The Slytherin common, where I now sat with Dorea and Evan Rosier, was the truest I had ever felt to being home.
Our corner of the green-tinted dungeon room was tucked in the back behind an imposing bookshelf, nestled against the stone wall and the glass that led to the murky expanse of the Black Lake. The last few hues of green-tinted sunlight that made its way through the water and into the room bathed our skin in the color of our house.
“And what exactly is his latest scheme?” Dorea Nott, the beautiful and polished girl across from me asked. Her long brown hair was slicked back in a sleek low ponytail, a thick white headband settled onto her head. She wore a simple pearl necklace and earring set, a set which likely cost more than all seven years’ tuition at Hogwarts. She always kept her appearance clean, tidy, and perfect, as most pureblood girls did.
“He has taken to claiming that we are descendants of Merlin, of all people.” I mutter lightly, my fingers working dexterously with the knife in my hand as I carved a rune into the backside of an ornate gold bracelet. Beside me, Evan Rosier snorts, and though I was not facing him I knew the look of amusement would shine through his eyes.
“He gets more desperate every year, doesn’t he?” He says with mirth. I look to him, finding his hand running through the dark brown strands of hair that perfectly match the color of his twin sister’s. His eyes were a brilliant blue, having taken after his mother, whereas Dorea inherited the captivating brown of their father. Evan wasn’t as polished as Dorea- he didn’t have to be, being not only a man but also the Rosier’s second child. His appearance was always meticulously styled as well, but he favored a more laid-back, wind-blown look, with tousled hair and billowy shirts, likely influenced by his infatuation with the Italian culture his family was surrounded by every summer.
“His desperation knows no bounds.” Dorea snorts lightly at my words, clearing her throat after and looking ashamed at her embarrassing display.
“How on earth does he think anyone will believe him?” Dorea asks.
“Our family tree has some missing pieces a couple of generations after Merlin was born- there’s some… discrepancies between recordings. Some say a Potter married into the family, others say a Black, but it’s… unclear. He’s claiming that it was neither, but rather a daughter of Merlin.”
“Merlin didn’t have a daughter.” Evan says, his arm coming to rest around the back of the leather couch we sat on, his finger lightly playing with the silver hair that fell from my head.
“No, he didn’t- he didn’t have any children. Which is why it’s so ridiculous.” I say.
“He’s just making himself look even worse.” Evan mutters, his eyes transfixed by the white strands between his fingers.
“Yes, and Virrian isn’t helping. He’s been telling anyone who will listen.” I roll my eyes, the action drawing my attention from the knife in my hands for a second too long and allowing it to slip. The blade slices the pad of my finger and I drop the metal bracelet and knife to the floor, sucking in a harsh breath as the pain finally sets in.
Evan jumps slightly at the sight, reaching forward hurriedly and grabbing my hand. He ignores my protests and attempts to pull away.
“You’re foolish.” He grins, cradling my hand as he reaches into his pant’s pocket and draws out his wand. He takes a moment to examine it, rolling my hand around in his own, his face meer inches from the wound. He rubs a finger lightly over it, the blood smearing from my skin to his own, and mutters an apology at my sharp intake of breath. Rearing back slightly, he lifts his wand, the tip almost pressed to my skin.
“Episky.” Within a second the skin is sewing itself back together, and while the blood stays coating my fingertips, the pain subsides.
I retrieve my hand from Evan’s, holding my finger up to the last few rays of light seeping in through the window. The green tint makes my blood look black, like nothing more than ink staining my finger.
“It’ll leave a small scar, but you should barely be able to see it.” Evan hums, his eyes on the blood soaking my skin.
“I have a bottle of Madam Morton’s Mixture #2 in my trunk.” Dorea said lightly from her chair, her eyes darting between Evan and I. “It’ll get rid of the scar in a few days.”
“I think she should keep it.” Evan grins, leaning back into the couch and replacing his arm on the back. “Scars are badass.” Dorea rolls her eyes at her brother.
“Scars are badass on men, Evan. They are flaws on women. I’ll put it on your nightstand tonight, just use it twice a day.”
“Thanks, Dorea.” I say, idly rubbing my fingers together to feel the strange sensitivity left behind.
“And stop flirting in front of me, it’s sickening.”
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We stand in the owlery, the cool autumn air howling around us. A storm was brewing, and the unsettled hoots of the owls around us showed that it would be a big one. Through the small windows in the circular room flashes of light could be seen in the distance, partially obscured by trees and mountains. Far enough away for now, but growing steadily closer, and soon enough the owls would refuse to fly. We had to hurry.
“You have the letter?” I ask Dorea, who nods and reaches into her robes, producing a scroll with elegant scripture on the front. The same stationary used by the Flints, and a perfect forgery of Violetta’s handwriting. It would work. The Flints would have no reason to be suspicious of anyone inside the school, anyways- they had enough enemies outside of it to turn the attention away.
“Are you sure about this?” Evan asks, not in an attempt to dissuade me, but rather to strengthen my resolve.
“Yes.” I say with a single nod, carefully taking the small scroll from Dorea’s hands. I place it atop the small yellow-and-black box on the ledge beside me, stringing a black ribbon across them and trying it in a neat bow at the top.
“It will work.” Dorea says, calling forth an inconspicuous brown tawny owl. It wasn’t hers, or any of ours, but rather one provided by the school. So long as the younger Flint couldn’t point it out at the owlery, there would be no trace it was sent from Hogwarts.
I step forward and the owl shoots out his leg, turning to prune his feathers quickly as I tie the package to its foot. The wind knocks it off balance for a moment as it takes flight, but it shouldn’t be a problem- it doesn’t have far to go.
“We need to go.” Evan interrupts as me and Dorea watch the bird growing smaller, before disappearing behind a curve of the castle walls. “We can’t be caught out of bed now.” He’s right, of course- being caught would be our death sentence. And so us three begin to descend the stairs.
The moment we exit the owlery the full force of the wind hits us, wildly blowing our hair around our heads. The storm is closer now, the thunder beginning to shake overhead, but it doesn’t take us long to reach the doorway. It’s a little-known entrance to the castle, hidden in the side and barely noticeable, but it provides quicker and more discreet access to the dungeons.
The dungeons are barely warmer than outside, the cold wind seeming to seep through the stone and steal any hint of warmth, but they are eerily quiet after the howl of the wind outside. We walk hurriedly with our heads down, hands gripped tightly to the wands in our pockets, praying to Gods we don’t believe in that we won’t be seen on our way back to the common room. And we weren’t- it was after midnight, afterall, and the hallways were as abandoned as the grounds.
We were not so lucky when the door to the common room slid open. We thought we were alone, at first, as we made our way towards our corner- but Dorea saw him first, nudging me with her elbow. Our faces stayed straight as we faced our curious classmate, hiding the panic welling in our bones.
“It’s past curfew, you know.” A low, steady voice spoke from beside the fireplace. The figure sat languidly in the plush leather armchair, his legs crossed over one another and an arm splayed across the armrest. A book sat propped up in his other hand, the writing on the front of the leather-bound novel unintelligible from this distance. The green fire that roared in the mantle cast harsh shadows across his face, illuminating the shadows below his cheekbones and temples.
Dorea and Evan froze, their eyes wide enough to be telling of their guilt. I would hex them right now if I could have, but I allow my body to subtly relax, a small sheepish grin slipping over my face as I turn to face the prefect.
“Sorry, Riddle.” I shrug sheepishly, trying to discreetly move my hand from behind my back into my front robe pocket. I saw Riddle’s eyes zero in on the movement and suppressed my glee.
He snaps his book closed, laying it on the armrest beside him, and he leans farther back into his chair as he studies us.
“Any student out of bed after hours is warrant for immediate detention.” He says, the warning clear in his voice, contradicting the relaxed nature in which he held himself.
“Detention and subtraction of points, right?” I add, nodding my head slightly. I could tell that Dorea and Evan were growing restless behind me, the fear clawing at them, but I silently willed them to calm down.
Tom’s eyebrow quirked, his head tilting slightly. His observation of the two behind me had ceased, and his piercing gaze became focused solely and intimidatingly on me.
“Yes, that is the procedure.” He says, but does not issue the discipline. His fingers are making subtle movements, and I realize it’s as though he’s twirling an invisible wand between them. He’s waiting for my reply, I realize.
“I take it that the illegal purchasing, possession, and consumption of alcohol would make this even worse?” I grin, and his eyes instantly go to the pocket which had drawn his attention prior.
“It most certainly would, Miss Valeryian. Are you admitting to such?” His voice had taken on a more stern tone, his eyes narrowing at me as he leaned forward slightly, his arm still propped up on the armrest beside him.
“I’m not admitting to it, just… asking. I mean… it wouldn’t look too good, would it, for the house to lose hundreds of points on the first day of classes?” I ask, tilting my head and furrowing my eyebrows in false concern, a display so obviously fake it was almost insulting to do.
“If you are so concerned with the image of our house, you three should not have so blatantly broken the rules.” He lifts himself from the chair, taking a moment to straighten the arms of his white button-down shirt, fiddling with the metal cufflinks for a moment. Ignoring us, as though we weren’t worth his time.
Dorea steps forward slightly, her voice higher-pitched than usual.
“We’re sorry, Riddle, really, we…” I shush her, whipping my head to give her a stern glare which I hoped Riddle didn’t catch.
“No, we shouldn’t have.” I say, agreeing. “But… the professors would surely want to know who we got the alcohol from, right?” He narrows his eyes.
“That information would certainly interest them, yes, but it would not lessen your punishment. If we are done here, that will be…” He begins to speak, but I interrupt him quickly- an action that caused barely concealed anger to flash on his face for a moment, before quickly smoothing out to a cold mask.
“It certainly wouldn’t look good if it was discovered that, say, a prefect, was distributing alcohol. I’m not a snitch.” I hold my hands up in defense before continuing, “But… well, it just wouldn’t look very good, is all.”
“Are you attempting to blackmail a prefect, Miss Valyrian?” He asks, his voice low and dangerous. “If a prefect is distributing illegal goods, this should very well be addressed.”
“I’m not blackmailing, Riddle. I just want to show you that the benefit of…overlooking one transgression on the very first day for the sake of our house’s reputation is worth more than punishing a few kids wanting to drink.”
“Are you saying it is a Slytherin prefect doing such things?”He drops his hands from the sleeves, his eyes narrowed in on me. From the new angle the dark circles that encased his eyes became visible. His face looked almost sunken, malnourished, but no less handsome in the pale light. Despite the tired look in his eyes, he stood tall and regal, everything perfectly in place from the white, wrinkle-free shirt to the side-swept dark curls on his head. He placed his hand in his trousers as he gazed towards me.
“No, of course not. Just… if it were true, that would be a terrible look for our house- and the other prefects, seeing as some of these… dealings could theoretically be done during prefect rounds. And that this… prefect just so happens to quite often be partnered with you.”
He reached forward, and before I could pull my hand back his own gripped onto my wrist just tightly enough that it hurt. My breath stilled, my eyes shooting up to his as the smile was wiped from my face.
“Careful, Miss Valyrian, with your blatant accusations. Not everyone is as… forgiving as I am.” He says quietly, his eyes narrowed as they search my own. I nod slightly, my eyes lowering as he glances at the two behind me. “I will overlook this… breach of rules this once, as classes have not yet begun and no one else saw. But be warned,” He says, his eyes returning to mine, “That any further actions like these will not be treated lightly.”
We nod, and the three of us turn to retreat to our dorms before Riddle calls out,
“Valyrian, a moment please. You two are free to go.” He says, and I still in my place. My eyes meet Evan’s for a brief moment and I nod, signaling for him to do as Riddle says. Dorea was already reaching the stairs, not sparing a glance back at the common room. Their receding footsteps took with them seemingly all the sound in the room, leaving only the crackling fire in their wake.
I turn, meeting the sullen gray eyes of Tom Riddle.
We are silent for a moment, his calculating eyes observing me, before falling down to my robe pocket from earlier.
“I will be confiscating the alcohol.” He says, his voice and steady, leaving no room for protest. I nod, pulling the bottle from my pocket, and pause for a moment in consideration. He could speak up tomorrow, tell the professors what he saw, but I doubted he would. It would only reflect badly on him for breaking the rules himself. We were in the clear- which is why it was a terrible, terrible idea to goad him even further, but I couldn’t help myself as I slowly unscrewed the cap of the firewhiskey bottle. I saw no emotion in his face as I brought it to my lips, taking several long swigs of the burning whiskey before returning the cap. My tongue darted out, catching the remaining moisture on my lips, and I saw his eyes flash to the movement.
“Thank you, Riddle, for being so… forgiving.” I say with a grin, holding out the opened bottle to him. “You’re free to keep the firewhisky, since no one knows it exists.” He reaches forward, roughly grabbing the bottle without taking his eyes off mine.
“Don’t make the mistake of thinking I will ever be so lenient again.” He says, swishing the liquid in the bottle for a moment before flicking open the cap himself and, to my surprise, taking a small, controlled drink of the liquid. “It was Fawley, correct?” My eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
“You knew, then.” I say, watching as he caps the bottle before placing it in his pocket.
“Yes, I will have to speak to her about being more… careful with the customers she keeps. Can’t risk someone talking and risking Slytherin’s reputation.” He responds before turning, as though to end the conversation. I take a moment to observe him, his slender waist and toned arms, the dark, curly hair atop his head.
“You’re different than I thought you were.” I say quietly, my eyes still darting over his figure. A single, deep chuckle rumbles from his chest, his back moving upwards with the movement.
“Go to bed, Miss Valyrian, before I change my mind.”