Chapter 7
Chapter 7
Chapter 7: Revenge
Tom awoke to a cheerful morning, sun beaming unto his green and white bed covers through the large French windows of his dormitory.
It was just another day at Hogwarts, although he did have an important History of Magic test today on the 1920s Goblin revolt and its culminating effects on the Wizarding Society.
Piece of cake, really, though he had studied extra hard to be sure he would manage the top grade, determined that a certain Gryffindor not outdo him in anything.
Pulling on his slacks, Tom quickly got ready for breakfast, sorting his books carefully into his knapsack before heading down to the Great Hall.
It was just another normal uneventful day.
During breakfast, he sat with his usual gang of followers, quietly eating his breakfast, mentally reviewing his notes for History of Magic.
In 1921, the northern goblin tribes combined with the eastern tribes to create the Malawi Circle, which…
Tom hardly noticed when a school owl dropped off his Daily Prophet and usual bundle of love letters.
Carelessly, he reached out, plucked the newspaper and letters from the owl's talons, and resumed eating his toast. When finished the task at hand, he turned towards the bundle of pink letters and began to dutifully go through each one.
After what seemed like eternity, he finally reached the last of the insipid cards, letting out a sigh of relief. The torture was finally over.
He grabbed it brusquely and opened the flap of the card, only to be accosted by an assortment of tiny flying cupids!
What the…
The mini- cupids flew high into the air in high pitched giggles, circling the Slytherin table and breaking out in sing-song:
Tom Riddle is so handsome
Prince of the Slytherin Kingdom
With his wavy locks
And tight buttocks…
The entire hall burst out laughing, and Tom could feel heat creeping over his cheeks. Really, this was too much. Someone had definitely gone too far!
The ridiculous song went on, however, with the cupids blowing bubbles and jets of water across the table, doing somersaults in the air and making kissing sounds.
His feature best
Is his chiseled chest…
Deciding he'd had quite enough, Tom rose to leave the Slytherin table, grabbing hold of the card and attempting to close its cover and magically seal in the incessant buggers.
However, the cupids, as if on cue, suddenly came swarming up to him, circling round his head like a halo, all the while chanting that annoyingly redundant song.
He's got abs of steel
And he'd make quite a meal…
Turning to go, Tom came face to face with a winking cupid, who blew a steady stream of water into his face.
Sputtering, he wiped his face with a sleeve and could discern the peels of laughter from his own table over the roaring, raucous, guffaws of the Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, who were all clambering onto the breakfast tables to get a better view of the show.
Having done a run-through, the cupids were now repeating the song again:
With his wavy locks
And tight buttocks…
By now, however, whatever tolerance Tom Riddle had for the flying mockeries had come to an abrupt end. He refused to be made a fool of by some idiotic cupids- gone- wild!
Grabbing his wand from his robes, he quickly dispatched of them with one elegant swing of the arm and flick of the wrist, sending raw power in placement of a proper hex.
The cupids melted on contact with his spell, disintegrated by the sheer power of the wand.
Everyone in the Great Hall immediately stopped laughing, eyes going wide in shock at such a display, awkward silence in their wake, interrupted only by a slight cough and small clatter of silverware.
They were all anticipating the Slytherin Prefect's reaction after such a show of magic.
No doubt he was furious.
Knowing perfectly well that he couldn't afford a slip-up in front of the teachers, even though he wanted nothing more than to perform a Tracing Spell right then and there and strangle the brainless twit who had done this, Tom allowed a small, embarrassed smile to cross his features before heading off to class in a hurried manner, an immediate wave of whispers, laughs and discussion hounding his heels.
He was beyond furious. No one. No one. Undermined him like this.
Someone was going to pay. Dearly.
Tom Riddle was in such a rush to leave the Great Hall, that he never remembered to look over to the Gryffindor table that day, and missed the sight of a certain Gryffindor tucking a ribbon of pink lace and an edition of How to Summon Pesky Cupids into her schoolbag.
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Tom raced out, down towards the dungeon for Potions Class. There was still a half hour till class but he had business to attend to.
He craved vengeance!
It was about time he reined in those persistent fangirls; up until now, he'd always encouraged their behaviour, convinced it only helped enhance his reputation within this school and that they were too shy to do anything too drastic and bold, however annoying, but this was the last straw.
As soon as he found out who'd done this, he was going to teach them a lesson.
Tight buttocks, indeed.
Tom rounded the corner of the hall and strode into the empty Potions Classroom, immediately whipping out his wand. It would only take a few seconds to perform the Tracing Charm and he was adamant that he repay the culprit as soon as humanly possible.
Whoever had done this had no idea how much damage they had done…
Pulling out the ruffly pink card from his pocket, Tom pointed his wand and shouted,
"Vestigium rursus!"
The room lit up with a celestial light, a ball of energy forming where his wand tip was pointed, quickly stretching and flattening out the edges of the love letter like taffy, forming a transparent canvas in its place. As if someone had pushed the on button, the screen came to life, depicting students walking past the hall just outside Tom's classroom. Like a dog sniffing for scent, the spell began moving past the dungeon corridor, searching for the smell of the card's castor.
Tom glared intensely at the screen as it led him back up the dungeon steps, around the corner, past a group of giggling Hufflepuffs, and through the double oaken doors of the Great Hall. Here, the spell seemed to halt, picking out the culprit's magic signature amidst the din. Then it bee- lined towards the Gryffindor table and he narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
It couldn't be...no she wouldn't… would she?
There was a crowd of Gryffindors obstructing his view of the culprit. The Tracing Spell waited for the crowd to clear.
One by one, the people moved off to class, and he finally got a clear profile of the person
There sitting at the Gryffindor Table, small smirk playing on her lips, was none other than Jane Cacher.
Having completed its mission, the screen of the Tracing Charm broke off into tiny, miniscule pieces, scattering into the air to nothingness, leaving a highly surprised and shocked Tom Riddle.
There was a rare expression upon his face; one even most of his followers had never seen.
And it was an expression that held many dark promises.
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Hermione pranced happily to Potions, relishing over her triumph.
That had been an excellent breakfast. She laughed again when she recalled the morning's events. It was the talk of the day, that mysterious love letter Tom Riddle received, and, of course, the song that had come with it.
The Gryffindor girl laughed gaily again. It had been a stroke of genius. That song.
Revenge personified.
She had most definitely paid him back, with interest!
Hermione wondered how long it would take Riddle to figure out it was her. No doubt not very long. But she couldn't find it in herself to care. She had wanted to prove a point to him, that she wasn't weak, that she would never allow him to push her around, and if he found out she had done it, then so be it.
He would know to never take her lightly ever again.
Serves you right for giving me bubotuber pus, you lousy git, Hermione thought vindictively before flouncing into the Potions Classroom, happily humming the lyrics to the cupids' song.
She was early, and there were only a handful of students in the room.
Glancing around, she felt the uncomfortable twinge of being watched and turned to notice Riddle lounging comfortably in his seat, one leg over the over, arms crossed, wearing an unreadable expression as he regarded her.
It seemed like a certain someone had already found out who had sent him the card. Well good for him! Hermione puffed herself up, matching him eye for eye, her expression equally cool, as she walked slowly to their desk and sat down primly beside him.
He didn't say anything, did not even glance her way, only picked up his quill, scribbled a few words and slid the parchment across the table for her perusal.
She looked down to see elegantly smooth handwriting.
Have a good breakfast?
She could almost hear the sneer behind the words. Pulling her own quill from her bag, Hermione dipped it in ink and quickly wrote back in her small, sharp printing.
A very good one. Although I'm sure you had a more interesting one. Quite an admirer you have there. A real poet. Or did you think of the lyrics yourself?
She pushed the parchment back in his direction.
The effect was instantaneous; the lines of around Riddle's mouth tightened into a disgusted snarl as he read her message. He looked up at her with a glare that screamed murder, keeping eye contact as forest-green eyes shot daggers at her and he wrote back without looking,
That trick wasn't very nice, Jane. Not at all deserving of your Gryffindor title.
She winced when she read his words. So he was going back to that again, eh? Well, two could play this game. Feigning ignorance, she replied,
What on earth are you talking about?
Green eyes narrowed dangerously in response, and Hermione definitely caught a glint of red that wasn’t from the lighting this time.
Don't act the fool. It doesn't become you. I know you did it.
So what if I did? You were the one who provoked me. Didn't think I'd just let it lie now did you?
She glanced up at him as he read the sentence, arching one elegant brow challengingly when he looked up.
Tom's expression became unreadable again, scribbling a few words before pushing the parchment in her direction.
I thought I made it clear to you, mudblood, that I was not someone to toy with? You are overstepping your boundaries.
You made it clear to me that you were used to stepping all over people to get your way. I am not some carpet for you to tread on! You're the one overstepping the boundaries if you think I'm just going to sit here and let you walk all over me!
He smirked at her words.
How very brave of you…and all this merely for few words I said to you before dinner the other night…
You put bubotuber pus in my pocket! I still can't move my hand thanks to you!
Temper, Cacher. You'll poke a hole through my parchment like this.
Shut up!
He smirked again, obviously enjoying this conversation- on- paper more than she was. What was it about Tom Riddle that always riled her up? She looked down to see his new message.
But, really, all this little spectacle shows is how correct I was the other night. You're letting your Slytherin colours come through again, my dear.
Before scribbling back furiously.
Stop changing the subject! What I did was perfectly understandable. It had nothing to do with Gryffindor or Slytherin. This is payback for that bubotuber puss. An eye for an eye.
He took his time writing down his next words, lingering on each stroke of the quill, the action almost sensual, looking up at her with that heart- clenching intensity in those beautiful eyes…
She barely noticed when he slipped the parchment to her side of the table again. She was too mesmerized by Riddle’s angelic features. So dark and tantalizingly sweet…
Indeed, but I thought revenge was a Slytherin concept? Didn't you Gryffindors always think yourselves above such bestiality?
Why did he keep bring that up? Grabbing the already filled parchment, she scribbled irately in the little margin of space left,
For the last time, Riddle, this has nothing to do with Slytherin and Gryffindor! Give it a rest!
He only looked at her serenely before responding in a cool, soft, voice, parchment forgotten,
"Really, Cacher, how do you expect to me react? This entire plan of yours was founded upon Slytherin logic. You meant to seek vengeance upon me the same way I did yours, correct? The touch with the letter was intelligent, I'll give you that. No one would ever think of it as more than a joke or accuse you of anything. You've effectively embarrassed me before my peers and teachers, not to mention proven that you are not someone to be trifled with..."
She was impressed that he'd been able to dissect the situation so fully, but there was one thing he had forgotten.
"You wounded my pride, Tom Riddle." She hissed at him as Professor Slughorn came striding into the classroom. "You mocked my intelligence and my capabilities, and you've been playing me for a fool. First, by trying to befriend me that first week so I wouldn't tell about the duel. Then, when that didn't work, you threatened me. I will not be made some pawn in your game." It was her turn to smirk now. "But this is more than enough retribution. The reputation you've been trying so hard to keep spotless, your pride and joy, is dirtied now. You've lost respectability because of this. The first-years won't see you as the scary, authoritative Prefect anymore. Now, when people mention you, they'll always remember this little incident and laugh about it behind your back. You'll continue hearing about it for the next week, month, year… The gossip won't go away. People will whisper about it in every corner of the school. So you see, all that trouble you went through to keep my mouth shut was for naught. Your reputation is still damaged, even more so this way. If I had merely told about the duel, it would have only enhanced everyone's fear of you. But now, I've made you into the joke of the school, and for someone so elated on power, there's nothing worse. You'll never live it down."
Finishing her long speech, Hermione turned back to the front of the class, where Slughorn was currently taking attendance, and ignored Tom Riddle for the remainder of the lesson.
She smirked uncharacteristically, her own words echoing in her head.
You'll never live it down…
It had been the perfect revenge.
So perfect Hermione Granger hardly noticed whose smirk she was wearing.
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Tom…was impressed.
There was no other way of putting it. He was impressed. With a mudblood, no less.
He knew he should have been thirsting for her blood, wanting to rip her limb to limb, but all he could find in a vast range of emotions was…respect.
Respect for this Gryffindor who was more serpent than those in his own House, more so than even some of his followers. Respect for her cunning and wit, creativity and prowess.
It was so refreshing to have someone on the same intellectual wavelength! Someone who could follow, understand, and appreciate the subtle symbolisms and deeper meanings behind each victory.
Jane Cacher had not only understood his tactics, she had beaten him at his own game, adding her own touch of rhetorical symbolism to reciprocate back at him.
No one had ever beaten Tom Riddle in his own game. It had been shocking, unbelievable, and he could be nothing but in awe of her.
No one had ever dared to defy him. He knew he should have been furious at her disobedience, but all thoughts of rage evaporated in face that he'd gotten his wish at long last.
He had finally found a challenge worthy of Lord Voldemort. Worthy of his cunning, his wit, his power, and intellect. Everything.
Her strike at his reputation had been ingenious; he'd be hard pressed to order students about now without them snickering behind his back for weeks to come.
She had avenged herself perfectly upon him. A perfect move in the game of chess. No risk, high rewards.
Tom felt himself more interested in Jane Cacher than he had ever been, curiosity overflowing in a cornucopia of questions.
Whatever her secrets, he was now sure he would find someone deliciously dark underneath the prim, know-it-all Gryffindor facade.
Jane Cacher had proven herself to him, and he would find a use for her, employ her many talents for his own benefit.
He felt a mixture of emotions towards the girl; curiosity, deference, acceptance, and one particular emotion he had shrewdly discerned.
It was a reaction Tom was vaguely familiar with, surfacing during that brief conversation with Cacher, where she'd openly flaunted her victory in his face, turning his own tactics against him; a sentiment Tom had always considered trivial and human. Weak. An emotion he'd only satisfied in times of absolute cravings.
Lust.
Oh Merlin help him, but he was aroused by that display she'd just given, using his own words against him, matching him insult for insult, barb for barb. That fiery expression gracing her features….the way her eyes lit up with fury, promising such dark potential…
Tom Riddle had always considered himself a master of his carnal cravings, understanding that some urges need and must be satisfied, but holding a strong rein over his impulses nevertheless. He was no foreigner to pleasure, using his powers of persuasion to his advantage whenever his body demanded it, able to lure any unsuspecting twit into bed whenever he wanted. He'd already had a numerous number of bed partners for his age,more than most of the boys in his House at any rate. With his flattering good looks and devilish charm, it had been easy to bend women to his will.
However, Tom seriously doubted he could persuade Cacher to go to bed with him. Not without a strong Imperious in any case.
As Slughorn droned on about the potion of the day, Tom Riddle sat languidly in his chair and plotted.
He wanted vengeance, that was a given.
But did he want her, as well? Did he want the mudblood, the very thing he was attempting to eradicate form the world?
He was going to use her to his advantage, that was for sure, but to what extent? Would he use her body as well as her mind? What if she were to become his follower? But that was out of the question. He always threw away the women he bedded after he got what he wanted. But what did he want? Did he even want her for a follower? She was a mudblood. Every Slytherin would repulse at the idea.
Yet she had proven herself worthy. His own observations came back to him. More serpent than half his house…
The bell rang. Class was over.
Tom felt a weight shift beside him and saw Jane Cacher pack up her books and head towards the door.
He immediately followed. Everything else could wait till later.
First, there was something to take care of…
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Hermione quickly stuffed the spare parchment and quills into her knapsack before making a small run towards the exit of the Potions classroom.
Transfiguration was on the fifth floor and she'd have to hurry to make it to class on time. Speeding down the corridor, Hermione zipped past the large crowd of first-year students and was just about to ascend the stairs when a hand from nowhere pulled her forcefully into an empty classroom.
She whipped around to come face to face with familiar forest- green eyes, but there was an untried, almost predatory glint in them that Hermione did not like one bit.
She gulped and immediately turned to pull open the door, hand turning the door knob, only to find an arm lash out and snap the door shut with a loud and resolute thud.
Honestly, she had expected retaliation from Riddle. Just not this soon. Or in this manner…what was he playing at?
She soon found out when a voice sounded at her ear, sending shivers down her spine with its smooth, sensuous tone.
"Hello, Jane."
Hermione felt an arm wrap firmly around her waist and her breath hitched in her throat at his action. What was he doing?
She opened her mouth to speak only to be cut off again by that deep, rich voice that commanded and beckoned so effortlessly.
"I forgot to tell you something, during our conversation."
He was breathing heat into her ear, almost blowing, his body hard against her back and emitting waves of sinuous warmth…Hermione could feel herself melting, the sensation so overwhelming, so sensual and erotic…Merlin, when was the last time she felt like this?
"You seemed to have the impression, Jane, that you'd won our little game."
Those words were a douse of cold water, bringing her back to reality. Whatever he was doing to her, it was just another trick! She squirmed against him, trying to pry herself free, but like before, he easily overpowered her, pulling her closer with the one hand around her waist, knowing exactly what he was doing as he hissed heatedly against her cheek, face buried in her thick mane of hair, voice sudden deathly cold,
"This is far from over, Cacher."
Lips brushed the shell of her ear, and the fingers resting at her waist nibbled upwards, dangerously close to her breasts. Hermione was aware that her breaths were coming in gasps now.
Riddle's fingers danced over one breast, barely touching, fingertips tracing the contours of her curves, making his movements all the more sensual and arousing. His breath brushed her cheek again, a whisper so low it reverberated into her very bones, shaking her from the core as he said,
"It's only begun."
Suddenly he let his hands drop and stepped away from her, giving her freedom but making her feel all the more colder by the sudden loss of contact. She was breathless, looking at him with rose-tinted cheeks, panting breaths, eyes wide with uncertainty and question.
She noticed his pupils grow darker as he took in her state; slightly breathless himself. He seemed like he was restraining himself from some secret aspiration.
Hermione couldn't help but notice how utterly beautiful he was, features softened by the pale glow of morning, power radiating with his every movement, a small lock of ebony hair falling carelessly into his eyes.
He was so incredibly handsome…so beautiful, like an angel of her childhood stories.
She hardly noticed when he advanced on her again, only noticed the way the light glistened off his skin, the way the shadows hugged the contours of his body.
So beautiful…
Hermione hardly heard the whisper that echoed softly on the walls of the classroom, hardly heard the harsh clang of the bell, hardly cared that she was late for class.
Her thoughts were focused entirely on Him, and it was long after he was gone, that she'd realized what he had said, with more trepidation and fear, than she'd felt in a long time.
But most of all, beneath all the fear, and tangled webs of emotions she felt for Tom Riddle, there was the unbreakable wave of uncertainty at his parting words:
"You're mine."
Chapter 7: Revenge
Tom awoke to a cheerful morning, sun beaming unto his green and white bed covers through the large French windows of his dormitory.
It was just another day at Hogwarts, although he did have an important History of Magic test today on the 1920s Goblin revolt and its culminating effects on the Wizarding Society.
Piece of cake, really, though he had studied extra hard to be sure he would manage the top grade, determined that a certain Gryffindor not outdo him in anything.
Pulling on his slacks, Tom quickly got ready for breakfast, sorting his books carefully into his knapsack before heading down to the Great Hall.
It was just another normal uneventful day.
During breakfast, he sat with his usual gang of followers, quietly eating his breakfast, mentally reviewing his notes for History of Magic.
In 1921, the northern goblin tribes combined with the eastern tribes to create the Malawi Circle, which…
Tom hardly noticed when a school owl dropped off his Daily Prophet and usual bundle of love letters.
Carelessly, he reached out, plucked the newspaper and letters from the owl's talons, and resumed eating his toast. When finished the task at hand, he turned towards the bundle of pink letters and began to dutifully go through each one.
After what seemed like eternity, he finally reached the last of the insipid cards, letting out a sigh of relief. The torture was finally over.
He grabbed it brusquely and opened the flap of the card, only to be accosted by an assortment of tiny flying cupids!
What the…
The mini- cupids flew high into the air in high pitched giggles, circling the Slytherin table and breaking out in sing-song:
Tom Riddle is so handsome
Prince of the Slytherin Kingdom
With his wavy locks
And tight buttocks…
The entire hall burst out laughing, and Tom could feel heat creeping over his cheeks. Really, this was too much. Someone had definitely gone too far!
The ridiculous song went on, however, with the cupids blowing bubbles and jets of water across the table, doing somersaults in the air and making kissing sounds.
His feature best
Is his chiseled chest…
Deciding he'd had quite enough, Tom rose to leave the Slytherin table, grabbing hold of the card and attempting to close its cover and magically seal in the incessant buggers.
However, the cupids, as if on cue, suddenly came swarming up to him, circling round his head like a halo, all the while chanting that annoyingly redundant song.
He's got abs of steel
And he'd make quite a meal…
Turning to go, Tom came face to face with a winking cupid, who blew a steady stream of water into his face.
Sputtering, he wiped his face with a sleeve and could discern the peels of laughter from his own table over the roaring, raucous, guffaws of the Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, who were all clambering onto the breakfast tables to get a better view of the show.
Having done a run-through, the cupids were now repeating the song again:
With his wavy locks
And tight buttocks…
By now, however, whatever tolerance Tom Riddle had for the flying mockeries had come to an abrupt end. He refused to be made a fool of by some idiotic cupids- gone- wild!
Grabbing his wand from his robes, he quickly dispatched of them with one elegant swing of the arm and flick of the wrist, sending raw power in placement of a proper hex.
The cupids melted on contact with his spell, disintegrated by the sheer power of the wand.
Everyone in the Great Hall immediately stopped laughing, eyes going wide in shock at such a display, awkward silence in their wake, interrupted only by a slight cough and small clatter of silverware.
They were all anticipating the Slytherin Prefect's reaction after such a show of magic.
No doubt he was furious.
Knowing perfectly well that he couldn't afford a slip-up in front of the teachers, even though he wanted nothing more than to perform a Tracing Spell right then and there and strangle the brainless twit who had done this, Tom allowed a small, embarrassed smile to cross his features before heading off to class in a hurried manner, an immediate wave of whispers, laughs and discussion hounding his heels.
He was beyond furious. No one. No one. Undermined him like this.
Someone was going to pay. Dearly.
Tom Riddle was in such a rush to leave the Great Hall, that he never remembered to look over to the Gryffindor table that day, and missed the sight of a certain Gryffindor tucking a ribbon of pink lace and an edition of How to Summon Pesky Cupids into her schoolbag.
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Tom raced out, down towards the dungeon for Potions Class. There was still a half hour till class but he had business to attend to.
He craved vengeance!
It was about time he reined in those persistent fangirls; up until now, he'd always encouraged their behaviour, convinced it only helped enhance his reputation within this school and that they were too shy to do anything too drastic and bold, however annoying, but this was the last straw.
As soon as he found out who'd done this, he was going to teach them a lesson.
Tight buttocks, indeed.
Tom rounded the corner of the hall and strode into the empty Potions Classroom, immediately whipping out his wand. It would only take a few seconds to perform the Tracing Charm and he was adamant that he repay the culprit as soon as humanly possible.
Whoever had done this had no idea how much damage they had done…
Pulling out the ruffly pink card from his pocket, Tom pointed his wand and shouted,
"Vestigium rursus!"
The room lit up with a celestial light, a ball of energy forming where his wand tip was pointed, quickly stretching and flattening out the edges of the love letter like taffy, forming a transparent canvas in its place. As if someone had pushed the on button, the screen came to life, depicting students walking past the hall just outside Tom's classroom. Like a dog sniffing for scent, the spell began moving past the dungeon corridor, searching for the smell of the card's castor.
Tom glared intensely at the screen as it led him back up the dungeon steps, around the corner, past a group of giggling Hufflepuffs, and through the double oaken doors of the Great Hall. Here, the spell seemed to halt, picking out the culprit's magic signature amidst the din. Then it bee- lined towards the Gryffindor table and he narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
It couldn't be...no she wouldn't… would she?
There was a crowd of Gryffindors obstructing his view of the culprit. The Tracing Spell waited for the crowd to clear.
One by one, the people moved off to class, and he finally got a clear profile of the person
There sitting at the Gryffindor Table, small smirk playing on her lips, was none other than Jane Cacher.
Having completed its mission, the screen of the Tracing Charm broke off into tiny, miniscule pieces, scattering into the air to nothingness, leaving a highly surprised and shocked Tom Riddle.
There was a rare expression upon his face; one even most of his followers had never seen.
And it was an expression that held many dark promises.
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Hermione pranced happily to Potions, relishing over her triumph.
That had been an excellent breakfast. She laughed again when she recalled the morning's events. It was the talk of the day, that mysterious love letter Tom Riddle received, and, of course, the song that had come with it.
The Gryffindor girl laughed gaily again. It had been a stroke of genius. That song.
Revenge personified.
She had most definitely paid him back, with interest!
Hermione wondered how long it would take Riddle to figure out it was her. No doubt not very long. But she couldn't find it in herself to care. She had wanted to prove a point to him, that she wasn't weak, that she would never allow him to push her around, and if he found out she had done it, then so be it.
He would know to never take her lightly ever again.
Serves you right for giving me bubotuber pus, you lousy git, Hermione thought vindictively before flouncing into the Potions Classroom, happily humming the lyrics to the cupids' song.
She was early, and there were only a handful of students in the room.
Glancing around, she felt the uncomfortable twinge of being watched and turned to notice Riddle lounging comfortably in his seat, one leg over the over, arms crossed, wearing an unreadable expression as he regarded her.
It seemed like a certain someone had already found out who had sent him the card. Well good for him! Hermione puffed herself up, matching him eye for eye, her expression equally cool, as she walked slowly to their desk and sat down primly beside him.
He didn't say anything, did not even glance her way, only picked up his quill, scribbled a few words and slid the parchment across the table for her perusal.
She looked down to see elegantly smooth handwriting.
Have a good breakfast?
She could almost hear the sneer behind the words. Pulling her own quill from her bag, Hermione dipped it in ink and quickly wrote back in her small, sharp printing.
A very good one. Although I'm sure you had a more interesting one. Quite an admirer you have there. A real poet. Or did you think of the lyrics yourself?
She pushed the parchment back in his direction.
The effect was instantaneous; the lines of around Riddle's mouth tightened into a disgusted snarl as he read her message. He looked up at her with a glare that screamed murder, keeping eye contact as forest-green eyes shot daggers at her and he wrote back without looking,
That trick wasn't very nice, Jane. Not at all deserving of your Gryffindor title.
She winced when she read his words. So he was going back to that again, eh? Well, two could play this game. Feigning ignorance, she replied,
What on earth are you talking about?
Green eyes narrowed dangerously in response, and Hermione definitely caught a glint of red that wasn’t from the lighting this time.
Don't act the fool. It doesn't become you. I know you did it.
So what if I did? You were the one who provoked me. Didn't think I'd just let it lie now did you?
She glanced up at him as he read the sentence, arching one elegant brow challengingly when he looked up.
Tom's expression became unreadable again, scribbling a few words before pushing the parchment in her direction.
I thought I made it clear to you, mudblood, that I was not someone to toy with? You are overstepping your boundaries.
You made it clear to me that you were used to stepping all over people to get your way. I am not some carpet for you to tread on! You're the one overstepping the boundaries if you think I'm just going to sit here and let you walk all over me!
He smirked at her words.
How very brave of you…and all this merely for few words I said to you before dinner the other night…
You put bubotuber pus in my pocket! I still can't move my hand thanks to you!
Temper, Cacher. You'll poke a hole through my parchment like this.
Shut up!
He smirked again, obviously enjoying this conversation- on- paper more than she was. What was it about Tom Riddle that always riled her up? She looked down to see his new message.
But, really, all this little spectacle shows is how correct I was the other night. You're letting your Slytherin colours come through again, my dear.
Before scribbling back furiously.
Stop changing the subject! What I did was perfectly understandable. It had nothing to do with Gryffindor or Slytherin. This is payback for that bubotuber puss. An eye for an eye.
He took his time writing down his next words, lingering on each stroke of the quill, the action almost sensual, looking up at her with that heart- clenching intensity in those beautiful eyes…
She barely noticed when he slipped the parchment to her side of the table again. She was too mesmerized by Riddle’s angelic features. So dark and tantalizingly sweet…
Indeed, but I thought revenge was a Slytherin concept? Didn't you Gryffindors always think yourselves above such bestiality?
Why did he keep bring that up? Grabbing the already filled parchment, she scribbled irately in the little margin of space left,
For the last time, Riddle, this has nothing to do with Slytherin and Gryffindor! Give it a rest!
He only looked at her serenely before responding in a cool, soft, voice, parchment forgotten,
"Really, Cacher, how do you expect to me react? This entire plan of yours was founded upon Slytherin logic. You meant to seek vengeance upon me the same way I did yours, correct? The touch with the letter was intelligent, I'll give you that. No one would ever think of it as more than a joke or accuse you of anything. You've effectively embarrassed me before my peers and teachers, not to mention proven that you are not someone to be trifled with..."
She was impressed that he'd been able to dissect the situation so fully, but there was one thing he had forgotten.
"You wounded my pride, Tom Riddle." She hissed at him as Professor Slughorn came striding into the classroom. "You mocked my intelligence and my capabilities, and you've been playing me for a fool. First, by trying to befriend me that first week so I wouldn't tell about the duel. Then, when that didn't work, you threatened me. I will not be made some pawn in your game." It was her turn to smirk now. "But this is more than enough retribution. The reputation you've been trying so hard to keep spotless, your pride and joy, is dirtied now. You've lost respectability because of this. The first-years won't see you as the scary, authoritative Prefect anymore. Now, when people mention you, they'll always remember this little incident and laugh about it behind your back. You'll continue hearing about it for the next week, month, year… The gossip won't go away. People will whisper about it in every corner of the school. So you see, all that trouble you went through to keep my mouth shut was for naught. Your reputation is still damaged, even more so this way. If I had merely told about the duel, it would have only enhanced everyone's fear of you. But now, I've made you into the joke of the school, and for someone so elated on power, there's nothing worse. You'll never live it down."
Finishing her long speech, Hermione turned back to the front of the class, where Slughorn was currently taking attendance, and ignored Tom Riddle for the remainder of the lesson.
She smirked uncharacteristically, her own words echoing in her head.
You'll never live it down…
It had been the perfect revenge.
So perfect Hermione Granger hardly noticed whose smirk she was wearing.
----------------------
Tom…was impressed.
There was no other way of putting it. He was impressed. With a mudblood, no less.
He knew he should have been thirsting for her blood, wanting to rip her limb to limb, but all he could find in a vast range of emotions was…respect.
Respect for this Gryffindor who was more serpent than those in his own House, more so than even some of his followers. Respect for her cunning and wit, creativity and prowess.
It was so refreshing to have someone on the same intellectual wavelength! Someone who could follow, understand, and appreciate the subtle symbolisms and deeper meanings behind each victory.
Jane Cacher had not only understood his tactics, she had beaten him at his own game, adding her own touch of rhetorical symbolism to reciprocate back at him.
No one had ever beaten Tom Riddle in his own game. It had been shocking, unbelievable, and he could be nothing but in awe of her.
No one had ever dared to defy him. He knew he should have been furious at her disobedience, but all thoughts of rage evaporated in face that he'd gotten his wish at long last.
He had finally found a challenge worthy of Lord Voldemort. Worthy of his cunning, his wit, his power, and intellect. Everything.
Her strike at his reputation had been ingenious; he'd be hard pressed to order students about now without them snickering behind his back for weeks to come.
She had avenged herself perfectly upon him. A perfect move in the game of chess. No risk, high rewards.
Tom felt himself more interested in Jane Cacher than he had ever been, curiosity overflowing in a cornucopia of questions.
Whatever her secrets, he was now sure he would find someone deliciously dark underneath the prim, know-it-all Gryffindor facade.
Jane Cacher had proven herself to him, and he would find a use for her, employ her many talents for his own benefit.
He felt a mixture of emotions towards the girl; curiosity, deference, acceptance, and one particular emotion he had shrewdly discerned.
It was a reaction Tom was vaguely familiar with, surfacing during that brief conversation with Cacher, where she'd openly flaunted her victory in his face, turning his own tactics against him; a sentiment Tom had always considered trivial and human. Weak. An emotion he'd only satisfied in times of absolute cravings.
Lust.
Oh Merlin help him, but he was aroused by that display she'd just given, using his own words against him, matching him insult for insult, barb for barb. That fiery expression gracing her features….the way her eyes lit up with fury, promising such dark potential…
Tom Riddle had always considered himself a master of his carnal cravings, understanding that some urges need and must be satisfied, but holding a strong rein over his impulses nevertheless. He was no foreigner to pleasure, using his powers of persuasion to his advantage whenever his body demanded it, able to lure any unsuspecting twit into bed whenever he wanted. He'd already had a numerous number of bed partners for his age,more than most of the boys in his House at any rate. With his flattering good looks and devilish charm, it had been easy to bend women to his will.
However, Tom seriously doubted he could persuade Cacher to go to bed with him. Not without a strong Imperious in any case.
As Slughorn droned on about the potion of the day, Tom Riddle sat languidly in his chair and plotted.
He wanted vengeance, that was a given.
But did he want her, as well? Did he want the mudblood, the very thing he was attempting to eradicate form the world?
He was going to use her to his advantage, that was for sure, but to what extent? Would he use her body as well as her mind? What if she were to become his follower? But that was out of the question. He always threw away the women he bedded after he got what he wanted. But what did he want? Did he even want her for a follower? She was a mudblood. Every Slytherin would repulse at the idea.
Yet she had proven herself worthy. His own observations came back to him. More serpent than half his house…
The bell rang. Class was over.
Tom felt a weight shift beside him and saw Jane Cacher pack up her books and head towards the door.
He immediately followed. Everything else could wait till later.
First, there was something to take care of…
-------------------------
Hermione quickly stuffed the spare parchment and quills into her knapsack before making a small run towards the exit of the Potions classroom.
Transfiguration was on the fifth floor and she'd have to hurry to make it to class on time. Speeding down the corridor, Hermione zipped past the large crowd of first-year students and was just about to ascend the stairs when a hand from nowhere pulled her forcefully into an empty classroom.
She whipped around to come face to face with familiar forest- green eyes, but there was an untried, almost predatory glint in them that Hermione did not like one bit.
She gulped and immediately turned to pull open the door, hand turning the door knob, only to find an arm lash out and snap the door shut with a loud and resolute thud.
Honestly, she had expected retaliation from Riddle. Just not this soon. Or in this manner…what was he playing at?
She soon found out when a voice sounded at her ear, sending shivers down her spine with its smooth, sensuous tone.
"Hello, Jane."
Hermione felt an arm wrap firmly around her waist and her breath hitched in her throat at his action. What was he doing?
She opened her mouth to speak only to be cut off again by that deep, rich voice that commanded and beckoned so effortlessly.
"I forgot to tell you something, during our conversation."
He was breathing heat into her ear, almost blowing, his body hard against her back and emitting waves of sinuous warmth…Hermione could feel herself melting, the sensation so overwhelming, so sensual and erotic…Merlin, when was the last time she felt like this?
"You seemed to have the impression, Jane, that you'd won our little game."
Those words were a douse of cold water, bringing her back to reality. Whatever he was doing to her, it was just another trick! She squirmed against him, trying to pry herself free, but like before, he easily overpowered her, pulling her closer with the one hand around her waist, knowing exactly what he was doing as he hissed heatedly against her cheek, face buried in her thick mane of hair, voice sudden deathly cold,
"This is far from over, Cacher."
Lips brushed the shell of her ear, and the fingers resting at her waist nibbled upwards, dangerously close to her breasts. Hermione was aware that her breaths were coming in gasps now.
Riddle's fingers danced over one breast, barely touching, fingertips tracing the contours of her curves, making his movements all the more sensual and arousing. His breath brushed her cheek again, a whisper so low it reverberated into her very bones, shaking her from the core as he said,
"It's only begun."
Suddenly he let his hands drop and stepped away from her, giving her freedom but making her feel all the more colder by the sudden loss of contact. She was breathless, looking at him with rose-tinted cheeks, panting breaths, eyes wide with uncertainty and question.
She noticed his pupils grow darker as he took in her state; slightly breathless himself. He seemed like he was restraining himself from some secret aspiration.
Hermione couldn't help but notice how utterly beautiful he was, features softened by the pale glow of morning, power radiating with his every movement, a small lock of ebony hair falling carelessly into his eyes.
He was so incredibly handsome…so beautiful, like an angel of her childhood stories.
She hardly noticed when he advanced on her again, only noticed the way the light glistened off his skin, the way the shadows hugged the contours of his body.
So beautiful…
Hermione hardly heard the whisper that echoed softly on the walls of the classroom, hardly heard the harsh clang of the bell, hardly cared that she was late for class.
Her thoughts were focused entirely on Him, and it was long after he was gone, that she'd realized what he had said, with more trepidation and fear, than she'd felt in a long time.
But most of all, beneath all the fear, and tangled webs of emotions she felt for Tom Riddle, there was the unbreakable wave of uncertainty at his parting words:
"You're mine."