A/N: mentions of a hot-water burn, fluff, a bit of minor tension
Drawing by me inspired by scenes from the story. I hope you enjoy! Feedback is greatly appreciated!
Tension ensues after you and Tom Riddle both attempt to retain your dignity following foolish mistakes. Tom risks breaking curfew to make up for a painful mistake of his.
Tom Riddle stood next to me at the workspace counter in the dim light of the potions classroom. His large pale hands planted firmly on the black counter, his sleeves rolled up below the elbow to reveal his toned forearms twisting slightly as I added the next ingredient to my simmering brew. It was part one of a group test where professor Slughorn would choose one student of a pair to perform the completion of a potion in front of the class. It was a way to test one’s ability to trust their partner, and would assure that both students equally understood the directions of the potion if they happened to be the one called to demonstrate. Professor Slughorn watched intently with a clipboard as I sprinkled the fine dust from my cupped palm into the cauldron. Reaching for the last of the peppermint sprigs, I extended my arm over the bubbling mixture when suddenly, Riddle aggressively grabbed my wrist.
“No!” he exclaimed, but it was too late, the thin leaf had fallen from my grasp into the boiling pot below. Slughorn jotted something on his parchment and looked at me, worry sinking into the lines of his face.
“Now you’ve done it.” Riddle all but growled next to me, taking a step back from the table in dismay. The mixture erupted and thick, red, oozing sludge sprayed from the cauldron, spilling over the pewter rims and onto the work table below. In my embarrassment I stood completely frozen, unable to scoop up the mixture with my hands because of the burns I would face as a result of touching the corrosive slime. So, I just stood helplessly, my eyes fixed on the mess before me.
“Oh dear,” Slughorn muttered, waving his wand and collecting the crimson sludge in a suspended bubble, eventually letting it plop back into the confines of the abused bowl. Slughorn scratched something else on the parchment in his hands and turned sympathetically to me with a soft expression. To my right I felt Riddle’s gaze boring into my face. I could sense the vast disappointment emanating from his glare and I had to force my attention on Slughorn to keep myself from glancing at his clenched fists.
As the students began to trickle from the classroom, I took my time in order to leave a comment with professor Slughorn about my performance for the day. I felt Riddle’s eyes on the back of my neck as he left the room and I was soon alone with Slughorn.
“I’m so sorry professor, I don’t know how the process could have slipped my mind.”
“The potion could have been botched by any student, but for next time I suggest you focus more on the ‘claims and cautions’ portion of the lessons, alright?”
I knew the words held little weight. It was a brew I should have mastered, and demonstrating my incompetence to the class was quite the blow to my psyche.
“Alright, thank you for the advice professor.” He nodded, and we exited the room together. Slughorn turned around, “I will see you next lesson--Oh, and Mr. Riddle, you as well.” Slughorn walked away and I turned around to see Riddle waiting outside the classroom, his eyes in shadow under his defined brows.
“Why are you still--” but I was cut off, Riddle cornered me into the wall, glaring at me with piercing eyes. Startled, I felt hot under his gaze, my cheeks blushing bright pink, and my breathing faltered as I felt the pressure radiating from his eyes.
“No one spoils my reputation like that, do you hear me?”
I nodded, looking at the floor.
“Now, go study for the next demonstration.”
The next morning I was determined to memorize the next brew by heart, and I decided to get up early and visit the library before breakfast. The hazy purple dawn glowed through the beautiful gothic windows of the library, and streams of sparkling rays danced on the crimson-carpeted floor. There were rarely students in the library so early in the morning, and I was able to swiftly collect the edition of “Deadly Draughts and Elixirs” Slughorn no longer provided in his classroom. Swiping to the chapter on “Uses for Peppermint,” I pulled out my crisp parchment paper and began taking notes on Slughorn’s suggested reading.
As students began to slowly appear at nearby study tables I quickly checked the clock, realizing I had completely skipped breakfast and charms was to start in 5 minutes. My heart racing, I quickly gathered my notes and my textbook, all but shoving them into my suddenly-very-small bookbag, and practically running out of the library. Professor Flitwick’s classroom being located on the third floor meant it took at least 7-8 minutes to reach--considering the staircases cooperated and no dreadfully slow first-years were infuriatingly placed in front of me at every turn. Practically sprinting, I exited the library’s massive entrance only to feel a sudden whoosh of air and a loud thud as I slammed into a tall firm body, and steaming hot tea splashed all over my chest. I let out a shriek of pain as the boiling liquid seared into my skin. I felt my eyes automatically welling with panicking tears--my breath coming out in shallow pants, and every nerve in my body tightened. The tears overcoming my stiff face and trickled down my hot cheeks, I pathetically glanced up to see who had collided with me.
Tom Riddle stood before me, mouth gaping, aquamarine eyes timidly glowing with fear and confusion. Immediately thrusting his hand into my shirt, he pulled the stained fabric sticking to my skin toward himself, allowing for a brief moment of alleviated pain as the cool air filtered through my blouse.
“I--” A single syllable escaped his lips before Madam Pince rushed from her desk to tend to my abrupt scream just moments before.
“What in Merlin’s name!” Pince cried out, gaping at my shell shocked expression, and noticing my frozen exterior she wrapped her arm around my shoulder, tightly gripping to my arm, and swinging me from the view of the boy who had spilled his morning tea into my tender skin.
“We’re getting you to Poppy right this minute, Salazar!” The last part she whispered under her breath as she firmly guided me to the hospital wing where Pince exchanged my paralyzed body to Madam Pomfrey’s care. Submitting to the matron’s grasp, I realized I would be missing my charms lecture entirely.
After the incident Madam Pomfrey guided me to a private bed where she told me to unbutton my top and drink a glass which she handed to me filled with a sloshing green liquid. She then applied a deep vermilion healing paste to my tender skin, her soft aged hands gently spread the cooling cream across my chest. Handing me a little black jar with the same red paste, she smiled gently.
“Apply this thickly every night, and whenever you feel the skin is unusually hot. Come back and see me in two days, alright dearie? If it starts to hurt badly you may most definitely see me sooner.”
I nodded, gently clutching the black jar in my hands as the paste slowly absorped into my skin revealing the red and irritated burn underneath.
“Now off to your next class.”
My bookbag hung heavy on my shoulder as I walked toward the exit of the hospital wing. I swung my bag in front of me to place the small black jar inside, and as I stepped outside I was met with the tall statuesque figure of Tom. His pristine uniform tailored perfectly to his broad shoulders, his shoes sleek black leather, his tie lay cleanly against his fitted white top. His hands were in his pockets, and he looked down at me with his eyes, not his face, so I could see the underside of his chin and the base of his defined jaw.
“I’m sorry, what business do you have by the hospital wing?” I muttered, looking away from his penetrating gaze.
“I have been waiting for you.” Emotionless. Smooth. Thick like the paste Pomfrey spread across my chest.
“And what is it that I can help you with, Riddle?” My voice was stern, my eye darting to meet his, my tongue running along the inside of my lips to keep my voice from exposing my irritation.
“I would like to offer my assistance for Slughorn’s partnered test.”
“We’re not allowed to help one another during the test, you know this.”
“Not during, before.” He finally lowered his face finally, so there could be a line connecting the angles of our jaws.
“You want to study with me?” My eyes narrowed. Yesterday the boy harshly told me to study by myself in the hopes of preserving is already pristine reputation.
“You need my help, and...”
“And I may owe you a new blouse.” He said smoothly, gazing at my brown-stained top where his cup had collided below my collarbone and above my breasts. I realized the top button was unhinged, partially exposing my sensitive pink skin. Quickly buttoning the little ivory disk and returning the eye contact, we were silent for a moment, and he took a step closer to me.
“You will accept my offer.”
“No I will not.” My lips pursed, and I crossed my arms, his sea-green eyes flickered with defiance, his eyebrows slightly furrowing to my nonchalant response.
“I don’t think you understand the situation.”
“I understand the situation perfectly, Riddle. I don’t need your assistance for the test. I... I have someone else.”
“You have someone else.” He repeated coldly.
“That’s correct, I have someone else helping me study, but thank you for such a kind offer.” A small patronizing smile fluttered across my features before I could stop myself, and in an instant, I felt my heart sink. I saw his expression flash with aggression in a blink of unrestraint before quickly resuming to his normal critical glare. It felt almost powerful to have effected such a narcissistic little--
“Very well then,” he turned his head to the side, revealing the muscular tendons in his pale neck, where almost translucent skin lay atop cool blue veins. “I look forward to your... performance.” He cocked a brow and swiftly turned around, briskly leaving me at the entrance of the hospital wing.
I had been planning on seeking out the help of professor Slughorn since the disastrous malfunction of my brew on the first day of the test, but after confessing to Riddle of my non-existent study partner, I decided to make my way to the dungeons to ask for his help. Down the stone staircases, the air seemed to dramatically drop in temperature, and the damp chilled corridor made my still-wet shirt stick to my skin with icy closeness. Knocking on the stone doorway to the potions classroom I cleared my throat.
“Ah yes? What can I do for you?” Slughorn removed his glasses after placing a small golden stem of some kind into a minuscule vial with a pair of tiny tweezers. He smiled and I approached his desk.
“I was wondering if I could ask for help before the test tomorrow.” I let my eyes stray to the numerous bottles, jars, bowls, and flasks filled with colorful liquids of differing viscosity that scattered the table.
He hummed briefly. “I’m afraid I cannot help with that, it would be unfair to the other students if I offered help before a test to only one group, don’t you think?”
“That’s ok professor, I just thought it couldn’t hurt to ask.”
“Of course. Well, if there’s nothing else you need, at the moment I’m in the middle of quite a time-sensitive brew--”
“I understand, I’ll see you Friday professor.”
I stepped out of the classroom, greeted with that all-too-familiar figure I had come to expect outside of doorways.
“Do you follow me, Riddle?” I made no effort to catch his eye as I began to walk back to the Slytherin common room. The heels of my shoes clicked with the sway of my hips as the sound echoed through the stone walls of the dungeons.
“I wanted to see who your previously mentioned partner would be.” A small smile creeped onto his crystalline features slowly and unnaturally as if the sculptor forming his marble face was forcing emotions onto his art-like exterior.
“And you got what you wanted, did you?”
“My offer still stands.” Stopping a moment, I turned to face him. The light from a yellowing lantern glowed out from behind his tall shoulders, creating a blurry halo contrasting with his all-black clothing. The light conformed to the grooves in his face, appearing to drip down his hollowed cheeks and peek from behind his muscular neck. His eyebrows raised in anticipation. I said nothing and stood still when his hand stretched out to grasp the handle of my bookbag, relieving my shoulders of the stress they carried. He silently guided me to the common room, whispering the password and stepping in together, my eyes were met with the familiar glow of the Black Lake glittering in from the skylights above. Still holding my bag, we crossed the near-empty common room to the diverging staircases leading to his dorms and mine. He began up the stairs, looking down at me from an even higher advantage point than his normal towering height. He beckoned me with his eyes to follow.
I am not going with Tom Riddle to his room, now, am I?
My legs obeyed and he led me to his four-poster bed, curtains draped. With a wave of his wand the thick velvety fabric cinched, revealing his bed, perfectly made, textbooks and parchment sat carefully in the center. The room was considerably darker than the common room, which was illuminated by softly glowing emerald lamps and light refractions glinting from the water above us in the Black Lake. The only light from the room came from the slanted skylights leading to the depths of the Lake above, the room coated in a thick pale green haze. It was as if he had been smoking an intoxicating musk, smelling of fresh sea foam and teakwood. He beckoned me to sit on his bed, and unpacking the books inside, he placed them next to his own materials on the cushiony mattress. He pulled up a chair from his desk and told me to pull out my parchment as we would be taking notes. There was something about being so close to him, silently obeying his requests that seemed strange. I felt as if my mind had been blurred, masked, like perhaps the intoxicating aroma wasn’t really a smell but an aura of attachment, and in that moment there was nothing more I wanted to do than to follow his every word.
“What aspect of the test frightens you the most?” His words seemed to spill from his lips like warm sap dripping from the rough bark of a tree, I felt myself sticking to it, caught in its sweet trap, inescapable and cruel. Deadly.
“Perhaps the timing of when to stir after the specific steps--and also how much of each ingredient... and maybe the order of when to stir versus when to add?” I felt my face growing hot.
“You need help with the entire potion, then.” His voice was icy, hinting at superiority and criticism.
“No, just those few parts.”
“You just described the art of potion making in its entirety.” A small half-smile slithered across his cold features. I said nothing, looking down at the spread of studying materials, feeling overwhelmed and perhaps a bit ashamed that I had gone completely against my conscience and followed the boy to his room and sat atop his bed and--
“Firstly, I’d like to give you this,” he pulled from his pocket a small red square of paper, placing it in my hand. “It’s enchanted to find me once you write on it. If ever you have a question or need anything, I’ll know.”
I stared at the unassuming gift in my hands, wordless.
“It can’t be used during the test, or that would be cheating.” He added slyly, and I let out a small puff of air in response.
“Well then, back to the business at hand. Is there somewhere you would prefer to start?” He resumed his unnaturally rigid gaze, and gripped the sides of his chair firmly, he lifted and pulled the chair closer to my position on his bed, which caused the muscles in his toned arms to twist and pull and expose the sapphire veins which coiled across them like serpents. Transfixed still on the tiny red paper, I didn’t answer. In my silence he reached out, and touched my chin, cupping my jaw slightly in his hand. He slowly pulled my face up to his view.
“No getting distracted, do I make myself clear?” His lips barely moved, but I felt weak to my stomach. My eyes fluttered shut, and I pulled my face from his touch.
“Don’t do that.” I focused my gaze on his nightstand, forcing my attention on his little reading lamp which had rusted embellishments of snakes resembling vines curling along the base of the lamp.
“Lets start with the ingredients.”
I wordlessly nodded, fumbling with the books until I found the one I had begun to take notes on before I left the library this morning. I handed him my notes, which he gracefully pulled from my hand, and eyed quickly.
2. Porcupine quills, (as many as needed)
“Your first mistake was when you added the peppermint sprig too early. This step comes after you stir four times counter-clockwise,” he looked down at my notes again. “I see you corrected this by noting that the mixture usually must be prepped before the leaves are added, very good.” I forced back a smile. “The peppermint is quite important to this particular brew, can you tell me why?” Lowering the notes, he stared at my nervous expression.
“They balance out the intense feelings of...” I stopped dead in my tracks.
“...which are induced as the wizard drinks the potion.” I finished, my breathing was shaky, and I felt uncontrollably nervous as he slowly shifted in his seat, leaning closer to me, I felt his hot breath on my neck as he silently exhaled.
Pulling away from his intimate stance, I stepped off the bed.
“Tom, I don’t think...” He mimicked my movements, also standing from the chair, his bed now lying between us, he put his knee and hands on the bed, and looked up at me from his lowered position.
“I shouldn’t be here...” I walked backwards, finding the door with my hands, and hurriedly making my way down the stairs, completely ignoring all my books still on his bed as I rushed through the common room and out into the cool dungeons outside. My heart beat a thousand times a minute, and my breathing was coarse and shaky, I stood with my back to the icy dungeon wall, my hands traveled to my chest in an attempt to force my erratic breathing to slow. Feeling the hot flesh below my touch, the slight pain flowing back into my consciousness, I remembered I needed to apply my burn cream. Realizing I had utterly missed supper, I decided it would be best to have Madam Pomfrey take a look at my skin.
There was no chance I would be back in the common room tonight after what had just happened. I thought, as I swiftly walked up the dungeon staircase to the main floor where I would find the hospital wing of the castle. Following supper, the castle was quiet. Most students had gone up to their house’s tower or down to the dungeons if you belonged to Slytherin or Hufflepuff. The corridors were nearly silent except for a few students quietly walking up the grand staircase or whispering respectfully due to the general understanding that students shouldn’t loiter in the corridors approaching curfew. Still, I silently walked to the hospital wing, hoping Pomfrey would allow me to rest there for the night if there was room for me. Nearing the door, I caught her eye, and she motioned for me to come into the room. To my relief, the lines of beds flanking the central walkway were nearly empty, and Pomfrey led me to a private bed toward the back where a privacy guard had been placed to shelter the injured student.
“How are you healing dear?” She smiled softly and my hand went to feel the hot skin, causing me to squint with a twinge of pain.
“Still painful I see...” her eyes wandered, looking at the floor near me, and suddenly it occurred to me what she was looking for
“My bag! I completely forgot to bring it!” My hand flew to my face, a wave of worry overcame me as I wondered if I would need to go back to his room to get my jar.
Madam Pomfrey’s expression was calm, and as the soft clicking of footsteps drew nearer, the both of us averted our eyes to the figure who approached the guarded stall.
Tom stood at the foot of my bed, and smiled weakly as he pulled the familiar black jar from his pocket. His sea-green eyes glittered faintly in the dimness of the hospital wing.
“I thought you might need this.” He handed me the jar, and underneath the glass bottom I felt something soft and crisp, looking down I saw the little red paper fall from the jar and into my lap, slipping it into the pocket of my uniform, our eyes connected and he opened his mouth as if to inquire something, but ultimately made no sound and exited the hospital wing. I was now alone with the matron, who noted at how lucky I was to have such an intuitive friend as she watched me apply the paste, critiquing my techniques, and explaining I should always go thicker if I’d like to be safe.
“Do you plan on making your way back to the dormitories or were you planning on spending the night here since it’s already...” she checked the clock “Well it’s already 10:10, but if you’d like to hurry back to your dorm I can inform Mr. Filch you’ll be--”
“If you don’t mind Miss, I’d like to stay here if that’s okay.”
“That’s certainly fine with me. I’ll be out, but if there’s anything you need, just ring and I’ll be back as quickly as possible. Sleep well, dear.” I watched her figure leave the hospital wing, and the dim lights overhead faded off, leaving only the faint glow of the moon filtering through the windows above the beds to shine geometrical patterns on the stone floor. I removed my shoes and socks, resting them at the foot of my bed, and undid my hair, feeling it coil around my shoulders. I placed the red parchment on the stand next to my bed, and slid my legs under the covers of the blankets.
As I lied curled up, I watched the minutes pass, my body far from sleep. 10:40, 11:15, 11:50... My eyes were wide open, gazing at the ceiling far above me. No one stirred in the hospital wing, and hidden away at the back of the linear room behind the stiff curtain, I sat up, turning my eyes to that small paper Riddle gave me a few hours earlier. Playing with the soft red paper I felt the curiosity bubbling up inside me. I searched for a writing utensil and scratched a quick message neatly into the paper. As I finished the paper thrust itself from my hands and fluttered through the hospital wing like a butterfly, and out the door it went. Now my excitement was nearing the brim as I sat awaiting a response.
Could he be asleep? I thought as I pulled my legs up to an angle, causing my blankets to tent with the movement.
I began to assume he had gone to sleep for the night, and just as I lowered my legs and began to relax my position I heard the faintest sound of someone walking the corridors outside the open door to the hospital wing. My eyes flew open and I felt my heat pounding in my chest.
Was he coming in person?!
The steps became slightly louder, but still effortlessly soft and steady. Soon a shadowy figure met me at the foot of my bed. Stepping into the light, I felt my heart nearly throwing itself from my chest. The soft light of the moon that filtered through the windows above my bed seemed to veil him with its glow. His composure resembled that of a statue of an angel covered with ivy and carved from sparkling ivory that would sit untouched in an overgrown garden. It was delicate and somehow firm.
“You’re lucky I am a prefect.” His whisper was barely audible, and as he again stepped closer to my bed he found his way to the chair next to me, and I could more clearly see his still pristine uniform was on, almost as if he had gotten ready to see me. I said nothing, and my eyes could not leave his face.
“Is your skin feeling any better?” His words were soft and silky, and as he neared my seated position on my bed I realized we had unconsciously copied our exact position when I rushed from his room. “I realize I never apologized for spilling on you... that must have been very painful. I’m sorry.”
“It still hurts...” I didn’t mean it as a way to force guilt into him, I just felt so strange by our hushed and intimate conversation I didn’t know what else to say to him.
“May I help you with it?” Reaching for the black jar I did nothing to stop him, my mind swirled with anticipation and emotion. He delicately unscrewed the cap, his long fingers clutching the jar harshly, and the whites of his knuckles stood like snow-peaked mountaintops on his smooth pale hands.
“Unbutton your blouse.” He softly commanded, and slowly my hands undid the highest three buttons of my top, fully exposing the reddened flesh below my collarbone. He was unexplainably addictive and enticing, and there was no natural reasoning behind the complete trust my body freely gave him. Dipping two fingers deep within the jar, and pulling them out, they were covered in the thick red paste. In a moment of searing eye contact he carefully placed his fingers onto my hot, waiting skin. I let out a soft wince as a spread the mixture across the affected area, a few times submerging back in for more of the wet cream. It was calming and yet exciting to feel him touch me so carefully and full of purpose.
“Your heart is beating so quickly,” he whispered. “Are you nervous?”
“Can I ask you something?” I attempted to dodge his question, but to no avail.
“Go ahead. What did you want to ask me?” I noticed the ghost of a smirk flash across his lips.
“Why did you pull my blouse from my skin when the tea spilled onto me?” I watched his eyes stray and I felt like I could almost see him retracing his steps and accessing the memory.
“I learned if someone has been exposed to a poison spill or a hot liquid the best thing to do is remove the item that the spill happened on. Fabric retains liquid by soaking it up, which would just allow the toxin to sit on your skin...” He caught my eyes. “But since I could not remove your blouse, it seemed the next best thing to get it away from your skin in any other way possible.” I nodded slowly, realizing that his quick thinking saved me from a potentially worse burn. “I learned it from personal experience,” he looked away.
“No, I spilled a corrosive potion on myself a few years back.” I let out a muffled laugh.
“Then what did you do? take your top off?”
“Is that what you’re thinking about?”
“No! just that you could have done something wrong in potions class...” I let slip a shy smile.
“There are many things you don’t know about me.” A tiny but genuine smile danced on his face for a moment, before he returned his hands to my chest, carefully spreading the soft cream and blowing cool air to speed its absorption. The breath made a small chill run down my spine, and turning my eyes back on his face, I couldn’t help but fixing my gaze on his red lips. Red like my simmering potion, red like his crisp parchment square, and red like the paste he gently danced across my tender, red hot skin.
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