Synchronicity
It was the night of graduation. The pubs of Diagon Alley were full of drunk former students, sloshing around with cups full of fire whiskey, singing, screaming, laughing. Verena was among them. In a few weeks, she would start her Auror training, but, tonight, the only thing she had to worry about was evading the spillage of beer and twisting out of the holds of lecherous teens.
Though, there was one person in the room she wouldn’t much mind being grappled by. He was older than her, but not by much, maybe in his 20s or 30s, and he was handsome. Easily more attractive than everyone in the bar. His dark hair fell in perfect waves and curls that seems undisturbed by the tight, sweaty quarters. It was just her luck that her former Potions partner, Harold Thornswain, knew the gorgeous stranger.
Harold shoved back his disheveled, champagne-soaked hair. “Verena, this is my friend…um…” He looked awkwardly to the other man, as if the name suddenly evaded his memory.
“Tom.” The man shook Verena’s hand politely. While she was a radiator in this climate, he was cold to the touch. But, it didn’t faze her. She was too preoccupied with his smile and smooth voice. “Verena, what a lovely name. Latin origin?”
“I believe so,” she answered lamely.
“May I buy you a drink?”
She was already a bit beyond tipsy, but how could she possibly say no to him? Harold had already disappeared. He was good at getting through these sort of crowds, being short and exceptionally thin. Verena might as well spend the rest of her evening with Tom.
Maybe more than the 'evening'.
It was only meant to be pleasant conversation. Normal questions, normal stories for half an hour, maybe an hour, Verena wasn’t keeping track of time. He rehearsed pretty verses written by a poet she mentioned liking. He bought her two drinks and would have bought her a third, but she refused, knowing that she would be too drunk to walk in a reasonable direction if she had more.
Tom led her outside. It was a relief, they were beginning to get packed in there like sardines as more and more graduates showed up, drunk off their arses. Once he got her alone, everything became more intense. He was closer, touching her in little ways. She wasn’t a social idiot, she knew the signs, and, very soon, they were kissing in a dark alleyway. One hand unforgivably wrapped around her throat...She liked it, especially when his fingers pressed on her jaw and made her open her mouth, just so he could devour her in kind. He pressed her to a brick wall, the pressure only forgotten because of the warmth in her belly, quickly heating up as his other hand slowly went to remove her top.
He apparated them to his hotel room. Her shirt was hanging on by a single button. Then, it was gone in a lazy, rushed vanishing spell. She dropped her wand onto the bedside table just before Tom lifted her up, hands purposefully squeezing her arse for a second, and threw her on the bed. She giggled, but then the smile instantly left her face. He was aiming his wand at her.
“What are you doing?” She asked, thinking he was just playing with her. But, when his expression remained cold and unchanging, she knew she was in danger. Verena grabbed a pillow as he shot a curse at her, causing feathers to fly everywhere. She lunged for her wand and shot a stunning spell at him, but he easily blocked it with a nonverbal shield spell. He shot something else back at her, and she thought she had blocked it in time, but it shot through her protego like an arrow sailing through air, and it landed in her throat. She couldn’t breathe. She fell to the ground, gasping, clawing at the unseen obstruction taking all of her oxygen.
“Imperio.”
Verena could breathe, again. More than that, she felt great. Ecstatic, but so tranquil, like she could float up to the clouds and dance on them. She stood up, swaying slightly. It did not concern her at all that Tom’s face had changed. He was older, scarier. His eyes were red, like blood vessels had burst and never healed. With a silent command, she held her arms out so he could put her shirt back on her, and then he did up the buttons with a flick of his wand. Goosebumps formed on her flesh when he contacted her for such a brief time.
“You have a very important job, Miss Warwick. There are many prisoners who require their freedom,” he told her. She smiled.
Voldemort picked up her wand, feeling his magic flow through it with little resistance. “My servant was right. Hawthorn. Good for curses, adaptable…Yes, you are the perfect choice for this.” He looked back to the elated, sky-high Verena. “Now, all you have to do is be a good little Auror,” he said, aiming his own wand at her, “and think of me often.”
“Thank you, sir. Thank you for sparing her.” Harold sighed in relief, placing the still-breathing girl on the interrogation table.
“I did not spare her for your benefit,” Voldemort said coldly. “But, I am curious. Why does my servant care so much for the life of a mudblood?”
Harold swallowed. He wished he was half as brave as Verena. “I wasn’t a good student, but she was the one who helped me with the Animagus potion.”
Voldemort stalked to the table, and Harold felt oddly defensive. But, his Lord wouldn’t hurt her now, would he?
“And, why would a future Auror break the law like that?” He asked, staring at the sleeping girl’s face like a cat staring at a dead bird. The thrill was fun, but it had since passed. Now was the time to decide whether to eat the thing before it spoiled, or just leave it alone.
“I lied. I said I would register myself, that I was only doing it because my father was abusive, and I needed some way to hide or fight back, with the trace on and everything.”
Voldemort narrowed his eyes at the frightful man. “By my understanding, you came to me because your filthy muggle father was abusive.”
“That part was the truth,” Harold mumbled, recalling the night which landed him in this prison. There was so much blood. On his hands, on the walls and floors. Everywhere. Even in his ears. Harold’s father was his ticket to Azkaban, and Verena was his ticket out.
Voldemort hummed, now bored with his servant’s tale of woe and patricide. “Continue with the plan. You know what to do.”
Harold nodded meekly, transformed back into a mouse, and disappeared through a hole in the wall.