Chapter Text
Laurene Rose Stache rushed up through the Slytherin common room, with permission from the Slytherin Heir himself, to the boy’s dormitories. No one stopped her, of course. One Alphard Black told her which way to go. As she was heading up there, people were staring at her blatantly, making her nervous. She gripped onto the bottom of her skirt and gathered as much Gryffindor courage as allowed. Once she reached the room, she saw him, curtains around his bed wide open for her to see. She didn’t pay attention enough to see that he wasn’t yet afflicted by the potion when she rushed over in distress to see if he was alright.
She fussed over him at a distance as he discarded her close presence with the roll of his wrist. She noticed that he had no shirt on, just pajama pants, which made her ruby upon seeing. While she wasn’t looking, he looked at her uncomfortable form with a smirk and piped up.
“Tried to be a Gryffindor? Or a Slytherin?” Riddle mocks the Hufflepuff with his sideways smile. He was testing the waters, merely playing with his prey. She couldn’t answer while preoccupied with fidgeting hands. At a moment’s notice, he jumped on this opportunity to commence his plan.
“Do you know why you’re here? It would be a shame if everybody found out what you did” Tom says halfheartedly, not caring if she answered or not. It was a rhetorical question. He just watched from what he could see as her eyes blew wide at this sentence, but stayed silent. He got bored after his provocation didn’t work. She still wasn’t looking at him, so he continued on.
“Someone drugged me and you did it. Luckily, I only drank a little after finding it strange at the time.” He deadpanned seemingly monotone, if you didn’t count for his eyes and mouth. Tom finally saw her determined eyes, liking the fire and betrayal in them. ‘Whose betrayal?’ dare he ask, he wouldn’t know, all he does know is that it had nothing to do with him. It was their first time meeting each other. He internally shrugs and watches her straighten up. Her eyes change as she began to speak. From pain and fury which delved into tears, a weakness such as pleading soon filled his ears.
“It wasn’t me, I promise! I SWEAR it wasn’t me. Please believe me, Tom!” He flinched at that, but concealed the reaction swiftly. No one ever called him by his first name here, only “Riddle”. Perhaps, she was getting too familiar. By all means, he needs to rectify that. He immediately put a sneer on and said.
“What if something went wrong, Gryffindor? What if I died, then what? You, Laurene Stache, Lady of House Perrot, Prefect of Hufflepuff, sent ‘Amortentia’, a drug” Tom’s accusation leaving no room for any more excuses. He hates excuses. He decides to give her hope, only to snatch it away. He leads with a fake sigh and continues on.
“Why would I believe you, Hufflepuff? Where’s your evidence if you were actually framed or not?” She looked down, scared out of her wits, her inherent Gryffindor courage having dissipated. Playing with the hem of her uniform skirt again, she took some time to gather herself once again.
After some time looking around his room bored, did he finally meet her gaze. That look she had on made him mentally intrigued. The once bright blue eyes were already hardened and darkening by the second. The tears, formally threatening to spill, stayed on her lower eyelids, petrified. Through the moonlight, he could see the shimmering liquid like dew, hanging onto her long pretty eyelashes for dear life. He could still see her bright pink lips, evenly filled in. Predictably nice and smooth, but currently confined into a tight line. She looked hard-pressed.
In the dark, she couldn’t see his expression when she folded her arms, taking a stance. He was externally impressed, but the internal struggle between magic and nature is exhausting. The high-level potion ingredients make it nearly impossible for his magic to stop the progression. A calming draught may quell the influx of subsequent symptoms. He needed to go to the Hospital Wing. He needed the antidote and fast. He cut her a deal, which he later blamed the potion for and certainly not himself.
“Finish what you started”. She hid her confusion pretty well for a Hufflepuff, but she wasn’t quick enough to hide from his skilled gaze. Riddle’s eyes probing as she raised an eyebrow. He was subtly indicating what people’s end goal of using a love potion was without saying it aloud. He thought she was smarter than this. Her face still stiff, so he continued onwards.
“Maybe, you could have been in Ravenclaw, but you aren’t that smart…” Riddle drawls out with his polished voice. His eyes had a faint coldness with a smirk firmly in place. She just glares at him, not bothering to say anything. The previous conversation left evident on his face. She noticed that he was enjoying himself.
“I’m talking about sex. You wanted to sleep with me, right?” He said it like it meant nothing, she fought the blush. He tried to keep up the façade, clearly in denial to the accumulation of heat within his cheeks. It was like all his body temperature radiated from his face. Riddle forced himself to look away. ‘Damn this infernal potion! I only drank a little, yet it’s still affecting me, how? I need to study the ingredients later, but it’s a high-class—‘ His thoughts were cut off by the blonde girl’s answer. “No, that was someone else. I only ‘followed’ your order, so I could clear my name and catch the culprit. I was framed and you know it! What are you playing at?” She gives a pointed look. He doesn’t let anything slip under her new glare. He outwardly shrugs his shoulders. It’s rigid, almost awkward, but he elaborates.
“Give yourself to me in exchange for none of this making it out of my House. If it doesn’t spread, you can’t possibly be expelled. Now, we wouldn’t want that, now would we?” There’s that smile again. That damned smile. It was fake. It gave a bite to his words that his eyes couldn’t show. She knew behind all that saccharine sweetness held citrus bitterness. Effortlessly, she was brought back from her thoughts. She saw the calculating look in his eyes coupled with that iconic smirk. Her entire face blanched at the proposal, a veiled threat. It was like her circulation stopped in apprehension.
She didn’t meet his gaze to avoid replying, just needed to think for a moment. She knew she couldn’t fight him. Although they were both pureblood, one was a leader while the other a bystander. While one was at the top of his house, she was basically at the bottom. One was in the shadows and the other one was front and center. One would have the command of legions in his future while she would be trapped in a hopeless marriage. She concedes on one condition: that he’ll leave her alone. He agrees with a smirk and dark eyes dancing with provocation as the “fun” begins.