Chapter Text
Part One
“Selwyn.”
It was an alluring whisper against your ear that had the hair raising on your neck. The hidden alcove far past the entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room should have been remote enough to keep you safe. To keep him from finding you.
“Riddle.“ Your voice held none of the easy charm his did, meek in comparison. You refused to look up into his face and stared unseeingly at meaningless words on a page.
"You weren’t hiding from me, where you?” he cooed, pushing strands of hair behind your ear.
A violent shiver ran through you at his touch. You should run. Flee. Escape. An entire ocean didn’t seem like it could put enough distance between you two. Yet you couldn’t force yourself to unlock your frozen muscles. “Of course not. Why would I be hiding from you?”
His fingers traced a path to your chin, pulling it from the book and forcing you to look into his dark eyes. “Yes,” he murmured hoarsely, “what reason would you have to be hiding from me?”
Why had you agreed to this? Surely Slughorn would have understood if you said you had to study. With O.W.L.s only four months away, it wasn’t a full lie either.
“Ahh, Miss Selwyn! I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t show!” Slughorn exclaimed from his seat. He was surrounded by a group of all male, Slytherin students. You really shouldn’t have agreed to this.
“Sorry, Professor. I was finishing an essay for Transfiguration and time got away from me.”
He let out a boisterous laugh. “Not to worry, my dear, not to worry! You’re here now,” he said with a wide grin. “Boys, this is the lovely young woman I was telling you about! Are, uh, introductions needed?”
You looked across the mostly familiar faces at the table. “I don’t believe so, Professor. This is practically a family reunion.” Purebloods loved their incest. Everard Lestrange. Azar Avery. Barnabas Burke. Peter Rowle. Robert Goyle. They were all some type of cousin or, in Azar’s case, an uncle.
A deep voice spoke from somewhere hidden behind Slughorn. “My apologies, but I have yet to have the pleasure of being properly introduced to Miss Selwyn.” The room turned its attention to the one who had spoken.
“Ah, well how wonderful!” Slughorn said with a clap. “This is Miss Selwyn. A year below you, but a very impressive Potions Mistress. Be careful of her though, she brews a quite potent Amortentia.”
The handsome boy—a man, more accurately—came into view as he stood from his seat beside the professor and slowly, methodically crossed the room. You’d seen him from a distance hundreds of times but, before tonight, you had never caught his attention. Now, as he stood only a few inches away, you were the center of it. His gaze raked itself up and down your form before locking on your own, bringing a fire to your cheeks. His hand extended and yours stuck out mechanically to meet it. Your breath hitched as he lifted it to his soft lips. “It is a delight to meet you. Tom Riddle.”
“My, my, Tom! Such a gentleman!” Slughorn sounded rather pleased with himself. “Burke, why don’t you take the seat next to Rowle so Tom and Miss Selwyn may get better acquainted, hmm?”
No, oh please no, you thought. Tom was a model student, a Prefect even, and the whole of Hogwarts was infatuated with him. It was common knowledge that he would be made Head Boy the next year. Combined with his impressive physique, chiseled features, and breathtaking smile, he was the epitome of every girl’s fantasy man.
Even yours.
But there was something that had you on edge. The hammering in your heart had to have been caused by more than the attractive man’s closeness that left a lingering smell of cedarwood and rebellious thoughts. The way he watched you triggered the same response that an animal had when it realized it was being hunted—fight or run. Hair raised on your arms, muscles tightened in anticipation.
Tom’s lips curled up as he released your hand and offered his arm. “What a wonderful idea, Professor. Shall we?” His steps were as slow and methodical as they had been the first time but now with you trapped at his side. He used the time to compliment your dress, running his fingers down the long sleeve. His words and actions were soft, but there was a venomous aura radiating in his touch that made your skin burn beneath the cloth.
He played his role as the charming Prefect well, pulling out your chair and pouring you a drink. He made polite conversation with Slughorn, occasionally asking for your thoughts. On the surface he was a perfect gentleman. If it weren’t for the numerous times his hand brushed against your thigh under the table you may have even been inclined to believe the performance.
“What’s this business with you brewing a love potion?” Azar teased from the other side of the table during a lull in conversation. “You’re not supposed to learn that until after O.W.L.s. You weren’t planning to use it on someone, were you?”
Slughorn nearly choked on a swig of Butterbeer. “Avery! That’s a highly inappropriate thing to insinuate.”
“Don’t worry, Professor. He’s looking for gossip. Being the disappointment of the family can be quite hard on him.” You shot Azar a bright smile to which he responded with a roll of his eyes. “But, no, dear uncle, I didn’t brew it to use. I’ve been testing my abilities on more complex, dangerous potions outside of class. For fun.”
“Dangerous?” he scoffed. “It’s a love potion. What’s the worst it could do? Make you snog someone to death?”
The boys in the room laughed with the exception of Tom, who remained unnervingly quiet beside you. You waited patiently for their chuckles to die, taking a sip of Pumpkin Juice once it had fallen silent again. “Love is a dangerous thing, Azar. People will do illogical, reckless things for it. But love potions don’t create love, do they?” The orange liquid swirled in the cup as you sat it down. “No, no. They create obsession. An insatiable desire to be with and please whoever gave them the potion no matter the cost. People will die for love, but an obsession is something they kill for.”
The boys remained silent, uneasy looks passing between them. Perhaps they had finally realized that girls trying to slip them love potions on Valentine’s Day was a tad more sinister than they previously understood. Slughorn nodded solemnly. “She’s right, love potions are nothing to jeer at. Especially Amortentia.”
The remainder of the night passed slowly and Tom grew bolder as it wore on. You thought of calling him out, but held your tongue. This was a room full of his friends—even if they were your family—and a professor who was more than willing to look the other way on certain behaviors when it benefited him. There had been stories about worse things happening at Hogwarts. You knew how it had played out for others. Labeled the villain and shamed as a teasing harlot looking to exploit a well-respected man. This was something you would deal with alone. When he rested his hand on your dress covered knee you shoved it off harshly, crossing your legs and shifting them out from reach.
“Lestrange,” he called out to your cousin sat next to Azar, “didn’t your father send you a new watch?” The entire table turned its attention to Everard who looked down proudly at his new accessory as he lifted his wrist to show them.
Your attempt to glance at the watch was interrupted when your chair moved soundlessly closer to Tom. The hem of your dress, which had once fallen below your knee, was flipped up dangerously high and his hand made contact with your nylon-covered thigh. His grasp was so tight as he forced your leg back down you were sure it would bruise.
“Are you alright?” Azar asked, having heard your gasp.
Your mind shouted for you to tell them. Someone would believe you. Someone would help. “No, um, a very sudden migraine came on.” Tom’s fingers relaxed slightly—a reward for your silence.
“Oh no, my dear! Do you need an escort to the Hospital Wing? Or to your common room?”
Tom dragged his hand further up, pulling material from one of the clasps holding the stocking up and sending toe curling thoughts to your head. “Yes, would you like me to escort you?”
“N-no, no. It’s alright. Richard should be here shortly. He offered to walk me to the Tower after he was done with rounds.”
“Bones? My, my, I didn’t realize you kept such fine company, Miss Selwyn! Well, in any case, I have a tonic I think might be useful to you. An old student of mine knows how fragile you ladies can be…” His chair scraped loudly as he rose. “I’ll be right back,” he called out over his shoulder as he disappeared into a side room.
Tom’s fingers dragged across the bare skin, rising higher and higher.
“What have you been talking to Bones for? Blood Traitor like that’s not worth your time,” Peter asked on your other side, still oblivious to what his friend was doing to you under the table.
“He’s nice to talk to,” was all you could manage. You covered Tom’s hand with your own in hopes that it would force him to stop and force your mind away from the fire it stoked in you.
“Would you really prefer his company over mine?” Tom asked lowly, almost threateningly, while his hand continued to push further up your thigh despite the resistance. You met his gaze again.
No . You would much prefer having Tom take you to a dark corner of the castle or an empty classroom. His fingers going further and taking whatever he wanted. You would prefer indulging yourself for once in something you absolutely shouldn’t.
But you could not have that. It was not how a Selwyn conducted themself. While you weren’t the heir to the name—that duty landed on your elder brother—you were still bound by the expectations of your birth status, whether you liked it or not. Richard Bones wasn’t even a potential romance; you were no more than friends and there was no desire for more. He was the safe, untempting choice to wander dark corridors alone with.
“It’d be rude of me to leave when I have no way of letting him know.”
His hand slipped away, a smirk playing on his lips. “Next time, then.”
The scene changed rapidly, molding Tom’s face into Slughorn’s.
The potion looked perfectly fine. It still had the same mother-of-pearl sheen, there were no bubbles, or any other physical signs something had happened to it. But it was different. It was wrong. “Have you added anything to the potion, sir?”
He let out a roar of a laugh. “Of course not, my dear! It’s perfect! The best Amorentia I’ve seen!”
It didn’t make sense. The day prior it had smelled like rain, old leather, and Earl Grey. While hints of those were still there, it was an overpowering scent of something woodsy that now filled the room. Something had to have happened to it. The possibility of someone trying to sabotage it wasn’t too far of a stretch. There were a few people who disliked you and a few who would just think it’s funny
“I must say quite I enjoyed having you around last night! You did well keeping the boys in check, you know. Rowdy bunch they can be,” he smiled to himself. Rowdy would not be the word you would use to describe them. “I’m hosting another dinner on Saturday, I think it’d be wonderful if you could come along again. I know Tom would certainly enjoy having you there. Kept asking about you…"
Cedarwood. That was the smell. Tom had smelled like cedarwood.
The first lie you could think of slipped out before your mouth went dry, "I’m sorry but I promised I’d help Professor Merrythought read through some essays Saturday night.”
It changed again and again, flicking through more than half a year of excuses you’d used to avoid his parties. Slughorn’s face phased into Azar’s then Peter’s then Everard's—all asking you to visit them over the summer holiday followed by careful rejections. Letters answered with more excuses to avoid being around them and possibly Tom. Your increasingly desperate attempts during the first weeks of your Sixth Year to never be alone for fear he’d find you and you’d give in to the terrible thoughts you had about him.
And then there they were: every horrifyingly erotic thought he’d ever stirred in you forcing their way forward. You didn’t want to see them again, oh Merlin, not again. The door on those thoughts slammed shut and you found yourself back in the alcove of the dark corridor, alone with Tom Riddle.
How long had he been staring at you?
“Was there something you needed?” you asked, pulling your head from his grip. The loss of his touch felt nearly unwelcome as your skin tingled.
“Something I wanted to give you, actually,” he said, seemingly unbothered as he removed a velvet jewelry box from his pocket, “Avery had mentioned it was your birthday a few days ago. Seventeen’s quite an important age, is it not?” Out of the things you had expected from Tom, a present had not been one of them. You reached for it, only for him to pull it back. "If you wouldn’t mind, I would prefer to give you this in a more…private setting.”
You stared at him confused. “Why?”
“Why not?”
“We’re in a secluded hallway far off the beaten path. There isn’t a more private place than this on a Saturday without a Hogsmeade trip.”
He merely smiled, offering his arm much like he had that night in Slughorn’s office. “Indulge me.”
Don’t go. Don’t go. Say no. Don’t go. But curiosity gnawed at you. Your fatal flaw, your incessant, desperate need to know, tugged you from your seat in the small alcove to slide your arm through his and let him pull you along the lonely corridor.
Through the Seventh Floor, past the Fat Lady (who griped to a group of First Years about the importance of not forgetting their password) and past the staircase. It was a silent walk that left you anguishing in your own regret. It was a mistake to agree to go with him. He’d been more than willing to grope you in a public setting, what would he do if you were completely alone? Fear and anticipation left you shivering.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
Not willing to admit the truth, you nodded. Your free hand tugged your robe tighter over the button down dress you wore. Mother had been insistent that your wardrobe consist of almost entirely dresses as they were the ‘best representation of femininity’. Usually, it was only an annoyance but with Tom it seemed perilous. An oversight by Mother. “Perhaps I should return to my dormitory for a change of clothes?”
His hand entrapped your’s on his arm. “Nonsense,” he said, coming to a stop in front of a door you couldn’t remember ever seeing before. “We’re already here. It’ll be warmer inside.”
He pulled the door open, releasing your arm to allow you inside. An insane thought crossed your mind. Run.
You weren’t sure you could outrun him or if he’d have to do more than lift his wand. Would he even try to stop you if you fled? Or would he simply deem you crazy? Throwing a final glance back down the corridor towards safety and reason, you walked through the doorway.
Inside was a rather cozy sitting room with a fire going, couches and chairs surrounding a coffee table. The room was not empty. Seated on the couches playing Wizard’s Chess were Azar and Robert. The tension that had been forming a knot in your stomach loosened at the familiar sight of your uncle and cousin. You were not alone.
The relief you felt was immediately as they stood and walked out the door without fucking a word. It shut loudly behind them, leaving you staring at the intricately decorated wood with your mouth slightly agape. They hadn’t even looked at you.
“Forgive them, they were only waiting for my return. They have plans that they were rather eager to attend,” Tom said soothingly. He passed you, walking to the back of the room to yet another door. “In here.”
Sill in shock, you followed without hesitation. Another mistake. Weren’t you meant to be wise? Two overstuffed green chairs were situated in front of another roaring fireplace and a large ornate mirror hung on the wall beside them. Most alarming, however, was the four poster bed that took up residence on the other side of the room. You had let yourself become trapped. “What is this place?”
“This?” he asked, gesturing around the room. “You could call it a perk.”
You watched him cautiously as he stepped closer, his hand finding the small of your back and guiding your to one of the chairs. “A perk of what?”
“Being curious.”
That marked two questions you had asked that he’d given vague answers to, something you deeply detested. You held your tongue despite the annoyance. There was a purpose to you being cornered in this room with him. “Speaking of curiosity—the present?”
“Eager, are we?” he asked mockingly with a raised brow. “Not in the mood for a chat first? Or perhaps a drink?”
You lifted yourself from the chair, ready to leave. “I’m not in the mood for games.“
Tom was quicker than you anticipated, placing himself in your path before you could react. Colliding into his solid, looming frame sent a far too pleasant sensation through you. Especially once his hand found itself on your waist. Your wide, terrified eyes fixated on the soft lips you’d felt against your hand months before.
What would they feel like against other parts of you?
“Come now. I’m trying to make conversation. It’s taken me many months to have you here to myself, can you blame me for trying to prolong our time?”
You pushed down the thoughts that begged you to reach up and taste him, trying to use the rational part of your mind that told you that you should fight his charm. His pursuit had cornered you with your will to escape diminishing the closer he got. To continue this dance with the snake would be putting yourself directly in the path of its fangs. “If you wanted to speak to me, Tom, you could have done so at many points. In the Great Hall or passing in the corridors or even an owl. I’m fairly easy to speak with if you had made any effort to do so. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
You made to move but were blocked once more. “You haven’t gotten your gift.” From his pocket he removed the box, holding it just far enough from your grasp that you’d have to lean into him to take it. Your gaze flickered between the box, his face, and the door before he asked, “Aren’t you curious?”
You were. So desperately curious that you did not mind his hand slipping around your waist to your back as you pressed against him to take it. You did not mind that his hand prevented you from moving away from him and forced you to turn to the side to open the jewelry box.
The necklace hidden inside was beautiful. A large platinum pendant, intricately cut and embedded with dozens of diamonds that twinkled proudly in the firelight. It looked old, at least several decades, and must have been particularly expensive. Not goblin-made but still an exquisite piece. "Tom—this is—it’s beautiful. But this must have cost you a fortune.”
“It was my grandmother’s.”
A family heirloom. An expectation. “I can’t accept this.” The echo of the top snapping shut bounced between you as you offered it back to him.
The fingers of his hand flexed against your back, a twitch in his pleasant smile. “Why not?”
“Because—“ you said, struggling to remember why you couldn’t accept such a generous, beautiful gift. If he wanted you to have it, you should take it, no? “It’s too much, Tom. It belonged to your grandmother! You shouldn’t be giving it away.”
His face hovered inches above your’s, his beauty so close it caught you off guard. “I believe it is my decision who I give this to. And I have chosen you.”
“Why?”
A chuckle escaped him, enjoying the chaos he had created within you. "Because it would give me great pleasure to see you wearing it.”
Those words sent a shiver down your spine in spite of the rising heat within you. Whatever Tom’s real motivations for the necklace you would likely never know. It was effortless for him to avoid answering the questions asked of him. A cruel game to play with the eagle.
“May I?” he asked, taking the box from you and pulling you along to the mirror.
No. Absolutely not. “Of course.”
In front of the mirror, you were forced to face your reflection, an activity you did not usually find pleasant. The Picture Perfect Pureblood daughter. Flawless hair, luxury robes, a perfectly pressed dress. With the way you carried yourself, no one would suspect the absolute hatred you had begun to develop for the role you had to play. The expectations, the restrictions, and the pressure to appease others were not things you enjoyed. Were it not for your brother, you would have given up the act long before.
“It’s quite warm in here, is it not?” Tom asked, already pulling the robes down your shoulder.
You knew you should object, even though it was much warmer in the room than it had been in the corridor just as Tom had said it would be. The way he touched you felt too intimate. You should stop, grab your now neatly folded robes, and walk away. You should. You really should.
The intoxicating scent of cedarwood wrapped around you as he pulled your hair up, using your wand that had been in the pocket of your robes to twist it into an imperfect bun. He watched your reflection intently as he removed the necklace from its box and placed it high around your neck, linking its two ends together. As he released it, the weight of the pendant pulled it under the neckline of your dress where its cool metal came to rest between your breasts.
“That won’t do.” You stood frozen as his fingers slithered down the length of the chain, undoing each button that obscured the view of the pendant before pulling the garment further apart. His fingers traced over the pendant, brushing against your skin around it. His chest pressed against your back as he leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Beautiful.”
“Tom,” you said, your breathing turning erratic as his nose trailed down to your neck, “we shouldn’t.”
“Then tell me to stop,” he whispered against your skin. Soft lips skimmed across your neck and a moan replaced the words you had been determined to speak. They felt incredible. “Tell me to stop.”
Your body leaned back against him in defeat. You didn’t want to run anymore, you didn’t want to fight. You didn’t want to be the perfect, virtuous Pureblood that was expected of you. Just for now you wanted. Him. His fingers. His lips. Any touch. You wanted. “Don’t stop.”
For the brief moment before your eyes shut you could see his victorious gleam on his face. “As you wish.”
He pressed light kisses up and down your neck as his fingers resumed their work on undoing the buttons of your dress, revealing more of you than any wizard had a right to see. He stopped at the cusp of your hips and began to peel the dress off your shoulders. His lips trailed behind the fabric, a sharp intake of breath escaping you as his teeth scraped against the skin.
The dress fell into a pool on the ground and his hands caressed you. You nearly whined as his lips left your neck. “Look at yourself,” he commanded. Your eyes fluttered open, locking on the reflection. Gone was the Picture Perfect Pureblood. Barely dressed with Tom’s imposing figure behind you and his hands clutching your waist.
“Uninhibited suits you well, don’t you think?” Your response was a low moan as his fingers slid over your knickers, tracing the outline of you. “It’s an incredibly powerful feeling to unshackle yourself. To do as you want unbothered by pomp and circumstance. To give in,” he said, pulling them to the side and pushing a long finger deep inside, “to your deepest, darkest desires.”
Like everything else he did, his finger worked itself in and out of you slowly and methodically. You gripped his arm tightly, legs unsteady and breath ragged. His finger slid out and dragged itself in over your clit before diving back in with a second.
“Tom,” you breathed, your nails digging into his clothed arm.
Your mouth was covered by the hand that wasn’t knuckle deep inside you. “Not Tom. Not in here. In here, with me doing this,” his fingers curved and increased their pace, “you will call me ‘My Lord’. Do you understand?”
In any other moment the request would have been ignored, mocked even. It was pretentious and pompous. But as his thumb began to lightly circle your clit, any objection faded. You nodded and his hand fell from your mouth to your throat. His lips were on you again, licking and nipping at the sensitive skin of your shoulder.
The fire he had started in you had turned into a blazing inferno that you were barely able to breathe through. “My Lord,” you said as it threatened to consume, “please.”
You could feel his lips curl into a smile. “As you wish.” His thrusts became harsh as his thumb swept back and forth across you. You were close, so close.
Then he bit you. Hard.
Your walls clenched around his fingers as you were engulfed in the flames, his thumb slowing its assault as you trembled through it. After a blissful eternity, the fire extinguished and you slumped against him.
He removed his fingers, brushing them over your now too sensitive nub and making you jolt before slipping them out of your knickers. You watched as he brought the fingers to his mouth. You didn’t see what he did with them or hear what he said. Your sight was trapped on the bright red bite mark on your shoulder. Reality struck. You had to go.
Now.
Jerking forward out his hold, you pulled the wand from your hair and, with a few waves of it, were dressed once again. Tom was speaking. You weren’t listening. You had to go. You had a book. Where was the book?
“I am talking to you.” A harsh grip on your upper arm pulled you back to the person you were trying to escape. It was like looking into the face of a predator. Furious, calculating eyes glared down. “You can’t just leave.”
“Yes,” you said, ripping free and backing away, “I can. This never should have happened. I never should have been here.”
“Darling, thi—"
Your back hit the door, hand finding the knob. “I can’t do this, Tom. Not here, not now, not with you. Just—just stay away from me.”
The knob turned and the door swung open. With one last look at the beautiful snake, you slipped out and slammed it shut. You had to go.
But as you turned towards the exit, the abandoned chessboard your uncle and cousin had been at when you arrived caught your attention and pulled you from the haze. There were only five pieces left on the board. The white queen was cornered by the black king and two black rooks. In between the opposing pieces lay the shattered remains of the white king.
