Chapter 9. The Christmas Pantomime 

! NC !

The magical atmosphere of the coming Christmas was palpable physically. Huge, beautiful Christmas trees decorated the Great Hall of Hogwarts. The smell of pine needles and the joyous anticipation of the ball hung in the air, making everyone smile involuntarily. A chorus of students filled the space of the hall with singing, the beauty of which gave goosebumps. The last rehearsal went very well. The troupe of students played perfectly. It was true that not all the decorations had been used yet, but the atmosphere was no less festive. Irene was completely immersed in the process and began to enjoy it. Back in the states she was delighted with the traveling circus-carnival, where Daphne Black's father worked, and sometimes jumped on stage, like a little Harlequin, laughing, swinging on the canvas, and played literally magical tricks. The audience, of course, thought it was just a quality illusion. Auntie Vi even scolded for it, considering such antics stupid and thoughtless, but little Irene was so theatrical and dramatic that the aunt's strict heart thawed very quickly.

Saturday evening was warm and beautiful, and Irene was once again experiencing that heart-wrenching "I'm home" feeling. Before going to the dungeon, she decided to stop by the owlery to see if her barn owl had returned and been exposed to any magic. Turning down the wrong wing of the corridor, Irene sighed unhappily: she was greeted by the welcoming corridors of the south tower, not the owlery. She went to the window, where she could see the Black Lake, already frozen but still enchanting. Somewhere in the sky, the moon hung in the sky, illuminating the winter landscape, the snow silvery in the bluish glimmer of the night. She wanted to be outside and just run towards the snowflakes, listening to the cheerful crunching underfoot and exhaling warm steam from mouth. Irene smiled. She heard the creak of a door opening. Remembering that somewhere around here, the prefect of Hogwarts had been rewarded with his own private room, she wrinkled her nose in disgust. She didn't want to see him. What if it was him? The Disillusionment charm came in handy. Irene froze in the corner by the window.

Tom Riddle and Abraxas Malfoy were walking down the corridor. There was no one else in this wing, which was probably why they felt free to discuss personal matters without fear.

"Have you decided what you're going to do about it?" Malfoy asked in a low voice.

"Yes. It's time to get rid of her. No one wants trouble, and I know her better than anyone. Is Katherine on close terms with her?"

"She considers her a friend, but she'd never go against family, she's loyal to me. You know, we're already engaged."

"Maybe Grace should have known everything after all?"

"My Lord," Abraxas' voice was careful and still quiet, "be assured of our loyalty. I fear that Katherine will overreact if she knows that there were two murders that summer, not just one."

"Abraxas, nothing guarantees loyalty like fear. Are you sure of your decision?"

"Yes, my Lord," Malfoy bowed his head politely.

Irene forgot how to breathe, eagerly listening to every word.

"The day after tomorrow, I'll go to Torquil Travers. It's his job. All the facts and inconsistencies are obvious. I'm more than sure she'll be expelled. We'll finish our training in peace, and then we'll have the strength and experience to get on with the implementation. One filthy mudblood was already enough... She got in where she didn't need to, thereby putting all the training at great risk."

"If she doesn't get expelled?"

"I wish I could say I'd just kill her then," Riddle grinned, "but I can't yet."

"Maybe you should have invited her to the ball. She'd be on the radar."

"Yes, but I've never invited anyone, and I don't see the point in changing my fine tradition," Tom laughed warmly.

"Still, you should thank Düster for Mia's absence," Abraxas smiled.

Tom nodded and turned into the small hallway to the left, which appeared to lead to his room. Abraxas gave him a glance, and when the door to the room slammed shut, he sighed heavily, then walked away.

Irene stood in silence for a few more minutes, hiding. She calmly digested everything she heard. The heartbeat slowed down. Her fingers locked tightly together, and she felt that they were too cold. In the end, carefully, step by step, she walked out of the South Tower, and all the same questions were spinning in her head: why is he called Lord? Why is he so respected and feared? Did he kill someone? Apparently, yes...

Even Katherine was not privy to all the plans of this wizard, because as it turned out, he was going to get rid of Irene... But not to kill. This is already a plus. He's smart enough to do something so rash.

The time is exactly until Monday. Tomorrow is Sunday, Christmas Eve and the ball. Fucking play! She needs to concentrate... What can be done during this time? How to turn the situation in her favor? Why doesn't she remember that damn Riddle?

Indignation began to slowly take possession of consciousness. Only without outbursts of aggression, as recently. She can't screw up like that again.

Irene didn't understand how she came to the owlery and just stood against the cold wall. The winter draft rushed to torment the body from all sides with cold stabbing bites.

"Think, Irene, think..." She clutched at her head with pale fingers, where thoughts were rushing chaotically.

Who knew there was a shark swimming in that aquarium with the cute student fish? And it's so damn hard! It's hard to pretend that working with a wand is a familiar thing. Sure, the one listened to her mistress, but that didn't negate the fact of incredible effort every time she took it in her hand. She would succeed, no doubt, but it would take time to get used to it.

Irene kicked the air frustratedly, clenching her fists. If only she remembered who Tom was, none of this would have happened. She would have been able to assess the full potential threat! But, Merlin, he's only a student after all... A student at a school where even the Dark Arts are taught at a ridiculous level! But the problem is, he knows her disposition, he remembers everything. She's practically an open book to him, and he's a hateful gap for her, which could now jeopardize absolutely everything. And then what? A nervous laugh echoed, causing a large black barn owl to fly down, settling at Irene's feet. She immediately checked it and found no magical influences. That was good. She headed back into the castle, into the dungeon, but for some reason through the second floor.

Sunday morning. Christmas Eve. The smell of pine filled the Slytherin common room. Girls and boys were excitedly discussing the upcoming ball.

"Have you picked out your outfit yet?" Katherine tried the gemstone earrings, then with a disgruntled look she set them aside in her jewelry box and tried on others.

"I want to wear my trousers."

"What?" Grace opened her mouth in surprise and stared at her classmate as if she should have gone to St. Mungo's long ago. "Why? I've heard about this fashion, of course, but-" She wrinkled her nose. An aristocratic nature with a love of the classics took over and resented what she heard.

"My aunt likes trousers, too," Irene smiled, pulling a black wand from the inside pocket of her robe, "hats and jackets. I wear those things too, but no one here does.... I have to conform. Well, it's okay, I'm going to her house for Christmas vacation anyway, so I'll wear whatever I want!"

"I'm going to my parents' house, too, with Malfoy! But seriously, Irene. What dress are you wearing?"

"This one." She waved her wand and an emerald dress flew out of the suitcase under her bed.

"I love it!" Katherine said and immediately went over to touch the fabric. "It's so pretty! I have a light-colored dress, but similar cut, also midi!" She literally melted when she saw what she loved so much.

"We'll shine and outshine everyone around us!" Irene laughed, feeling an unpleasant pressure somewhere in her chest, but at the same time a burst of strength. "Katherine, I have to take a book to the library, I'll be right back. Will you help me do my hair?"

"Yes, of course," Katherine agreed and continued to go through the jewelry.

Irene walked leisurely through the Great Hall, looking at the decorations. All the teachers involved in the production were there: Dumbledore was setting up a small stage in the center, Silvanus Kettleburn was tinkering with some box.

"Professor Kettleburn," Irene said in the most polite and friendly tone she could muster.

"Hello, Ms. Duester!" he replied with a smile on his face where only one eye remained.

The Professor of Care of Magical Creatures was always getting into some kind of trouble and was the culprit of unpleasant accidents, of course, absolutely not on purpose! It was in yet another "adventure" that he lost his eye. However, everything that happened did not detract from his love for the subject and his teaching position. The Hufflepuff spirit sticked out a mile.

"I'm so excited! Can I see our snake? I don't want to be scared of what I see during the play," Irene asked excitedly and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear in embarrassment.

"Of course! Don't worry, everything will go well!" The professor was about to go to the big closed box when he was called by Herbert Beery to clarify where it was better to put the fountain: in the center or a little to the side.

An imperative gesture of the index finger in her pocket. A small door on the side of the box opened quietly.

"Away," Irene commanded quietly in Parseltongue. A scaly back flashed between the scenery scattered across the already set stage.

"Irene!" Silvanus panted a little, hurriedly pacing back. "Look, it's really cute!"

The professor walked over to the box, opened the lid... A confused look and mumbling.

"But... But it was here! Oh, what to do!" Kettleburn looked around in confusion. "It had escaped. The snake has escaped!"

"Oh, Silvanus!" Dumbledore said unhappily. "You're already out of Dippet's favor. I suppose it couldn't have crawled that far. It's lunchtime... And the ball is at eight o'clock. You'll have time to resolve the situation!" Albus nodded enthusiastically, patting the professor on the shoulder.

"I'll help you find it!" Irene looked sympathetically at what was happening and immediately volunteered to help.

"Ah, Irene! That's so kind! It's good that you asked me to show it, if I had discovered it missing before the performance... what would I do?"

"I'll look in the hallway," Irene suggested, but actually headed for the second floor.

The abandoned girls' bathroom was probably never visited. Irene walked hurriedly to the very last stall. She opened the door and cautiously leaned down, where the embers from the magical fire she had made last night on her way back from the owlery to the dungeon were glowing.

"Okay, this is going to work..." With a wave of her palm, a large boot appeared on the floor, away from the embers. "That's what you need."

In order not to arouse any suspicion, Irene returned to the dungeon, so as everyone could see her. The pine odor pleasantly hit her nose. There was something exciting about this ball and play after all, or maybe Irene had just experienced such an appealing sense of danger that stirred her up.

Two hours later, she returned to the abandoned bathroom once more. Instead of coals, there was hot ash on the floor, with an ashy trail leading straight into the boot. A smug smile on her face. Irene started waving her wand to tidy things up. It was terribly awkward, and even non-verbal magic would have been much faster, but she had to get used to it, after all, because you never know how the circumstances will turn out! Soon there were no embers, no ashes, nothing that even remotely resembled the former small fire.

Hurried steps into the Great Hall. Joyful exclamations of having found the missing snake. Professor Silvanus Kettleburn followed Irene out. Looking into the boot, exclaimed joyfully, "Wonderful, Miss Duester! All that remains is to enlarge it just before the performance. Oh, you little wretch! Are you running away?" The professor was very fond of magical creatures, even at the cost of his eye.

Irene nodded happily, and on that positive note, they went their separate ways, for the ball was only a couple hours away.

Shoes with elegant heels, an emerald satin dress with bare shoulders.

"Ow, Katherine!" Irene squeaked in pain.

"Be patient! Your hair is very unruly. You asked me to pull it back into a beautiful bun. Once I start it," Grace pulled her hair, which made Irene howl again, "then everything will look perfect!"

Katherine wasn't lying. The hair was flawless! Irene's raven-colored hair didn't stick out like a disaster in every direction. It was neatly parted, evenly combed, with a beautiful chignon at the back.

Irene smiled at her reflection and pulled out a red lipstick. After putting on her lips, she looked at Katherine with a solemn look.

"You look like you're from Europe. Like France!" Grace glowed. Her snow-white hair was pulled back and adorned with a beautiful ribbon. The soft powder-colored dress was the same style as Irene's - a fashionable midi dress.

"Are you ready?" Irene held out her hand to a fellow student, who she suddenly wanted to call her friend. A strange feeling of warmth spread somewhere in her chest. It seemed like something unusual, alien... But at the same time, it gave a feeling that Hogwarts also gave: she was finally at home.

Grace nodded and they headed into the common room with the rest of the dressed up female students. Malfoy was waiting for Katherine by the fireplace. She held out a dainty palm to him and he kissed her delicate fingers gently. His eyes were filled with undisguised admiration for his companion, who was destined to become his wife. Alex waited for Irene at the dungeon. He was handsome. A classic suit emphasized his austere appearance. Irene smiled, accepting his invitation to walk under his arm.

They hadn't even entered the hall yet, its doors wide open in readiness to welcome the students into an embrace filled with Christmas wonder, and it was as if the ground dropped away under feet.

The principal's opening speech was solemn and beautiful, inspiring even more. Alex poured Irene a punch, which she happily drank to relax a little. Unpleasant goosebumps ran through her body, and the back of her neck began to burn. One could put it down to the punch and the tight chignon, but Irene knew the sensations all too well by now. She turned around. Standing in the distance was Tom Riddle, staring at her intently.

The unacceptably beautiful Irene in a dress the color of her eyes made Tom ask one single question to himself: why was he letting her go with some Ravenclaw man? Maybe Malfoy was right and he should have invited her? To have her in sight, to have her close by, to feel his power over her like he once did. A sense of possessiveness coupled with selfishness began to tear at his gut with a wild beast that wanted to come out. To come over and grab those fragile shoulders with force, showing that this belonged solely to him, the Dark Lord. It was his by right. Since the first of June, 1938.

Tom clenched his long fingers, suppressing the undoubtedly unnecessary emotion.

Irene looked at Tom, and it only got worse. His dark eyes seemed to glow scarlet, sending an electric current through her body. A banal decision to stay out of sight seemed the most sensible, and Irene pulled Alex behind her to get closer to the stage Dumbledore had set up. They would be going backstage soon anyway.

A beautiful slow waltz began to play. Irene refused to dance, reasoning that she didn't know how to dance at all. She lied in the most insolent way, but Alex didn't insist, just put his arm around her. They were standing somewhere quite apart from the couples dancing.

Alex's warm gaze caressed Irene's face. He liked her. Did she like him? Of course, she didn't. She didn't care at all, but for the sake of the image of the most ordinary student, she was willing to play the part. She closed her eyes for a moment, as she should at times like this. The light touch of soft lips. She responded to his kiss. A ringing laugh and embarrassment. They took advantage of the moment while everyone was busy dancing. It was a good thing Pringle wasn't around, or an innocent kiss would have been dubbed the worst offense.

"Ten points from Slytherin and Ravenclaw," a phlegmatic voice said behind Alex's back, and an electric shock ran through Irene's skin.

Tom looked at the dancing couples, a glass in his pale fingers. A perfect facial profile. He was wearing a dark suit, obviously not new, but of good fabric.

"Riddle, come on," Alex smiled. "It's a ball, everyone is having fun and enjoying themselves!"

"There are rules," he voiced indifferently, taking a sip of the sparkling drink.

"Tom, can we step back for a minute?" Irene said through a fake, sweet smile, and got only an indifferent look in return. But she didn't give up, and gave Tom a more insistent one, finally receiving a barely perceptible nod, showing superiority, as if he were doing her a favor. "I'll be right back, Alex. I have something to tell the prefect, I completely forgot."

They moved closer to the exit. The loud music and the clamor of the students drowned out Irene's quiet voice.

"What the hell, Riddle? Give it a rest! You want to mess with me so badly that you're willing to bury your own faculty?"

"There are rules. They must be obeyed. Those who break them are punished. You've never been caught by Pringle before, so you don't realize I'm being kind."

"Do you take me for a fool?"

"I do."

"What?" Irene's nostrils flared, her eyes fixed in a squint, her lips turning into strings. Anger began to slowly take over her mind. Black wand in hand, jabbed at Tom's stomach. Irene herself approached point-blank so that no one could see what was happening.

"Don't be silly," he grinned, "there are plenty of people around."

"I hate you so much," Irene hissed. "You're always messing everything up! You're like an annoying fly that's nagging and nagging, and the only option is to just swat it! What kind of complex do you have, Riddle? A small penis, perhaps?"

An indifferent nod. Black eyes burned her face, and it got worse, sending shivers down Irene's body. She remembered the Prefects' Bathroom, a tugging languor hitting her stomach and dryness in her throat.

"I bet you just remembered how small it is, and it's already wet between your legs," he whispered into the black top of her head.

Irene snorted at such blatant insolence and vulgarity, but her breath caught from the heat that gripped every cell in her body. He was too close. His faint odor was distinctly audible, and it was... stupefying.

"We'll talk after the ball, like adults."

The rush of heels back to the stage, for the play was about to begin.

Tom seemed indifferent, but his gut fluttered with tension and emotion. He'd realized this at the orphanage: to experience any sensation, the situation had to be very tense and unusual - that's when he became interested, though not for long, of course. But that was exactly what happened with this girl, who broke into the gray monotonous everyday life of the orphanage, turning everything upside down. And now he allowed himself these words, seemingly contrary to his image and behavior. But damn it! She was embarrassed for a moment, and the barely started blush on her perpetually pale face made him feel good.

Everything was ready for the performance; the hall froze in excited anticipation. Backstage, there was some sort of commotion. Jessie Cole and Matilda Farlow suddenly began to argue about the order in which they should come out. For some reason, this had never happened at rehearsals, but now the discontent was growing, and the girls had already turned to raised tones. Irene was quiet. Everyone immediately crowded around the students, trying to calm them down, because it was time to go on stage. What had happened all of a sudden? Merlin only knew! And Irene Düster. The spell of squabbling is the perfect distraction. There was a whisper over the box where the snake had already grown in size.

The performers of the main roles were tried on.

Curtain up. Applause.

The first witch was Asha, who suffered from a disease beyond the control of any healer. She believed that the Fountain would bring her back to health. The second was Altheda. She had been humiliated and robbed by an evil magician. It was the Fountain that could help her overcome her helplessness and poverty. The third witch was Amata. She had been abandoned by her lover. She believed the Fountain would help her through her grief. According to legend, only one witch could enter the garden, but the witches had decided to unite. Six eyes see more than two.

Dumbledore waved his wand, and a crack suddenly appeared in the garden wall, from which creeping plants sprang up and pulled Asha inside, she grabbed onto Altheda and Amata. And all would be well, but the third, Irene, inadvertently grabbed on to some knight, Alex. And so, the four of them made it to the magic garden!

The audience applauded. Everything looked insanely beautiful.

Irene looked around the audience: her fellow students were standing to the left, Riddle was there too, watching intently.... No, not the play, he was watching her. His gaze was heavy, but so... alluring. It was foolish to deny and fight...it was long past time to accept it. The danger that emanated from him was maddeningly arousing, awakening something wild, instinctive in her, something that made her want to feel his large palms on her body and become completely subject to him.

Irene shook her head. Such nonsense at such a crucial moment!

The first challenge was a white serpent that demanded proof of pain. As soon as this was voiced and the scenery began to change, an unhealthy, faint smile flashed across Irene's face that no one noticed but Tom. He froze, lifting his head, gazing intently into the scene. He knew that look and realized that it always foreshadowed something. A genuine interest, as he had once been: what will she do this time?

A huge serpent crawled onto the stage. The smell of something burning hit the nose sharply. The entire backstage area erupted into flames in that second, as did some of the tablecloths of the tables in the Great Hall.

Panic.

Students rushed in different directions, screaming in fright. Abraxas and Katherine immediately evacuated Slytherin students in an organized and cool-headed manner. Tom remained in the Great Hall. There was no one on the stage. Irene was nowhere to be found.

"The ball is over! Everyone to your rooms!" Principal Dippet's stern voice, the volume of which had been increased by a special spell, hit the eardrums.

The remaining upperclassmen who had been rushing around the hall obediently rushed out of the Great Hall, to their rooms, as if sobered by the headmaster's voice.

"Silvanus! By Merlin, this can't be tolerated anymore!" Dippet looked stern and menacing.

Dumbledore was putting out the fire. Riddle rushed to help, looking around. Kettleburn rushed after him, wanting to reduce the snake by shouting a spell, but it recoiled, and his head swelled three times.

"Not only have you already robbed yourself of an eye, now you've almost robbed us of our school! Why! Merlin, why did you bring Ashwinder into the play? And you've got the nerve to enlarge that little beast! Probation! You're on probation! One incident before the end of the year and we're looking for a new professor."

The professor of defense and care of magical creatures couldn't answer anything intelligible due to his swollen head.

"Ten points to Slytherin," the Headmaster nodded to Tom, apparently thanking him for his help in dealing with the aftermath. "You can go now."

Tom said goodbye politely and headed for his room. The excitement and thrill of what had happened swirled inside. On the one hand, he wanted to squeeze that neck and just strangle the bitch for her antics, but on the other hand.... how skillful and graceful! No one will realize it was her, and his faculty's reputation wouldn't suffer for anything. But she's dangerous, which means she'll be expelled tomorrow anyway. He'll be sure to make it happen.

He went into his room and just collapsed on his bed, undoing the top buttons of his shirt. Finally, all this clowning was over. He laughed at his own thoughts.

"Damn girl!"

There was an insistent knock on the door. Tom inhaled heavily and wandered toward the entrance. What if it was Malfoy and something else had happened? He opened the door.

Emerald eyes glittered in the torch-lit hallway, echoing the beautiful dress.

Tom slammed the door shut.

"I'll tell them you molested me in the Prefects' bathroom if you don't let me in. I'll give them my memories and you'll be expelled."

Tom opened the door.

The steady clack of heels. She sat down on the already rumpled bed.

"This isn't your bed, so get off."

Irene clicked her tongue loudly and moved to a chair by the desk, where Tom's textbooks and parchment were neatly laid out. Tom leaned against the already closed door, crossed his arms over the chest, and watched the fox-eyed little rogue closely.

"Did you come to check how many inches are in my pants?" Phlegmatically.

"Three or five," was the equally indifferent reply.

"Five, sweet Irene." Tom stepped closer, causing her to squeeze into the back of the chair. Her eyes are at the level of his hips. "But that's in sleep mode. It's the only one available to you. What do you want?"

"Tom, you and I are not little kids. Maybe we should have talked from the beginning. Like adults. Don't you think? What is this stupid game of cheating points? It seems so pathetic and childish!"

"Irene, don't exaggerate your importance. There are rules. I'm the prefect. I keep order. That's it."

"But you're only clinging to me!" Irene blurted out sincerely, wanting to find some common ground.

"You think I'm clinging to you," Tom replied indifferently, leaning back against the table, still too close. "It's just the way you want it to be."

Irritation created an impulse of anger that rushed out again, but Irene held on. What if...he's right? And she wants his attention by making all this up? No. It's crazy.

"What a wonderful pantomime," Tom said sarcastically, his smile widening. "It's pure propaganda for mixing blood between filthy muggles and wizards. How did you sign up for this crap?"

"Enough!" Irene jumped up from the chair. "What kind of game are you playing, Riddle?"

"What kind of game are you playing?" Eye to eye. "Don't think you're the smartest, and you're fooling everyone. You're a liar." Tom leaned over the pale face, "False to the core! You stink of lies. Bitch." His fingers, on impulse, gripped the back of her neck. "Why can't anyone see that? I'd like to give you a hundred points for an ashwinder, but I can't. But I can get you expelled from school." A cold-blooded smile distorted the beautiful features of his face.

Irene pushed Tom's chest, realizing her helplessness in what was happening. What would she do? Have a duel? She can't.

"What kind of nonsense is this, Riddle!" She pointed a wand she didn't even know how to use at his chest. Tom grinned at the helpless gesture.

"Düster, you started the fire on the second floor. I'm not as stupid as our Defense and Care of Magical Creatures teacher."

"What the fuck were you doing in the girls' bathrooms?" Irene laughed, but the laugh gave away her tension. And even there, that damned Riddle had caught her.

"I was spying you through a keyhole," he grinned, pulling out his wand. "I am, if you haven't already lost your memory for the hundredth time, the prefect."

Anger and helplessness were eating Irene away. Fucking dementia! But it would be resolved soon.

Irene, realizing the absurdity of a possible duel, tossed her wand onto the bed and defiantly raised both palms up. A stare.

"You feel it too, don't you?" Her voice became low, velvety, like it had been in the bathroom and the library.

"Sometimes I do. Sometimes not at all," Tom answered quietly, "and sometimes very strongly."

"So strongly that I can feel it physically," Irene smirked.

"It's okay," Tom smiled, "I don't pounce on you in public like some animal. Besides, I can feel it when you get all bitchy and horny at the sight of me."

"Come on," Irene clenched her legs from the renewed heat of the vulgar words Tom had so casually uttered, "let's have an adult conversation."

The realization that she was in the predator's lair made her heart pound harder. His invisible power, his authoritarianism and subjugation of the other students, the danger he smelled - it all excited her.

"Right here?" Tom smiled and placed his wand on the table.

Without waiting for Irene's reply, he took her by the waist and pushed her from the chair to the table. The instant his fingers touched the body, Irene felt sick. Sick to the point of black dots in her eyes, because damn it, she felt so fucking good from the warmth of his big palms.

She stared into the black eyes and realized that this was a moment of recognition to herself: she wanted him, and had wanted him for a long time. The desire to finally touch those lips was taking over, making her heart beat faster.

Tom, as a spite to reason and to the delight of Irene's animal part, considered her reaction in an instant and, confidently squeezing her slim waist, easily put her on the table, as he once had on the window of the burning orphanage. The unhealthy gleam in her eyes, just like then, made him feel a rush of overwhelming waves of arousal.

Irene immediately spread her legs, hooking her pale fingers into his white shirt, pulling the large male figure confidently toward her.

Impulse.

The trousers were getting too tight. Tom bent down to take off Irene's shoes. Baring her small feet, he subtly touched her toes. Her feet had been insanely pleasing to him, even as a child... And damn it, nothing had changed. He touched them with his lips, and Irene was ready to swear it was the most arousing sight she'd ever seen. Then he stood up, hovering his entire body over Irene, who exhaled heavily and pitched forward.

Irene's coal-black lashes fluttered, and she leaned back against the oak tabletop, staring at the body opposite, at every movement, every emotion.

His fingers slid even higher, but a little timidly, and froze on the fine lace, soaked with Irene's desire for Tom that smelled danger and animal instinct.

Irene lightly touched Tom's groin with her bare feet — and Tom's heart beat violently in readiness to explode from unbearable languor right at that moment.

"Touch me," Irene demanded in a whisper, breaking the silence of the Christmas night.

And Tom began obediently and gently caressing her with his fingers through the thin fabric. They reached for each other, trying hard to suppress the obvious excitement. Tom moved forward and nuzzled against her soft cheek, whispering softly in her ear, "Do you like it?"

There was no iron confidence and calmness in his voice, as usual. He raggedly croaked these two words, from which Irene moaned softly, closing her eyes. Her lascivious whining was exactly the command, and Tom kissed her. Such a desirable, such an excruciatingly sweet kiss that finally made their mind go blank. An electric shock seemed to run through her body, and Irene exhaled voluptuously into Tom's lips, shuddering as the goosebumps came on.

Tom gripped the feminine body with his fingers in a somewhat rough manner. His gestures were not in any way don Juan. Nevertheless, Irene's heavy breathing and barely audible moans turned him into a voodoo doll, and he was ready to put up with it just to get his way. He had realized a few moments ago that nothing else would stop him and he wouldn't stop until he was sated with her. He won't fucking stop. How many fucking times had he imagined her in his bed? How many fucking times had he been overcome with desire? How many fucking times he couldn't get out of bed in the early morning? Because of her. The german bitch made his cock languish and his balls ache, and Tom felt himself every time, wanting to get a damn discharge. As if in agony, his fingers gripped the shaft tightly and moved smoothly up and down, and her goddamn image appeared before his eyes over and over again.

Irene pushed her knees up, and the emerald dress fell down, shamelessly exposing her rounded thighs. She reveled in the pleasure of his increasingly confident caresses, and he teased as he watched her lose control. He loved that she was leaking, that she was dirty, that she was oozing, and he was the reason.

"Put your finger in," she whispered an obscene desire, moving smoothly to meet the increasingly free movements of his long fingers.

Tom froze for a moment. He felt the heat burning through his rib cage, but then he gently pulled the thin lace aside and, after a moment's hesitation, began to fondle her with his thumb, and then tentatively and cautiously inserted his index finger, feeling the flame from within.

A sudden audible moan escaping from scarlet lips finally took complete control of Tom, and his timidity, which had occasionally broken through the mask of confidence, receded. He looked closely at Irene's face to figure out how to behave further, what she was waiting for. He gently inserted a second finger, gradually moving them more and more confidently, more insistently. Irene arched towards him, convulsively clasping her knees and moaning shamelessly loud with pleasure. A blush and a grin of triumph and satisfaction touched Tom's face.

Irene took hold of his wrists, forcing him to stop this more unbearable sweet agony, and pulled his palm to her face. Tom slowly ran his fingers over Irene's scarlet lips, whose slutty long tongue immediately slid over his fingertips. Tom's ring finger sported a ring with a simple black stone, and the scarlet lips brazenly slid over it, in a most obscene motion that made Tom ready to go crazy, painting the dirtiest picture in his head. How many times had he fantasized about this...

Their equanimity was drowned in madness, as if a huge liner had struck an iceberg and was doomed to go down. Tom was greedy for the kisses of her bitchy scarlet lips, wanting to taste her on his tongue. He was greedy for every inch of her body that he was about to discover very soon.

Irene pushed him away easily, jumping off the table. Before she could even do anything, he was in her hair, pulling out the hated pins, throwing them on the floor. A sweep of his palm and each one fell out of her thick hair, letting the locks fall like a waterfall, into which he immediately ran his strong hands. A curse he had always barely resisted.

"You master a nonverbal spell…" Irene breathed out, greedily pressing her lips to Tom's.

"Just like you do, Irene..." Tom's voice was ragged through the heavy breathing that screamed how fiercely he wanted her. "You're the one who gave herself away."

Irene pushed Tom onto the bed, hastily undoing the remaining buttons of his shirt. He froze for a second, then leaned back confidently, watching as she knelt, shamelessly pulling down her dress. And Tom felt sick. He swallowed hard, unable to believe his eyes, drowning in the beauty of the moment: thin sheer lace on a feminine, pale body whose skin seemed translucent pink, porcelain – this crazy contrast to her raven-black hair.

Irene gently ran her palms down his legs, stopping at his groin. Tom exhaled slowly, but his arousal was obvious. Their fingers simultaneously went to his belt, and began hurriedly undoing the hated button on his pants. Tom, however, decided once again to let her do it on her own. He leaned back, rested on his elbows, and simply watched as Irene slowly unbuttoned his fly, freeing his cock.

She froze, swallowing. This brought a smug smile to Tom's face, and he brazenly ran his fingers through Irene's hair and pulled her to his groin.

"I want you to do the same thing you did a couple minutes ago on the table with my fingers," he stated his vulgar desire confidently.

Irene took his cock gingerly in her hand, realizing that she couldn't physically wrap her fingers around it. The thought made her arousal surge, and she felt a heaviness in her lower abdomen. Unable to withstand the frantic urges of her own body, she began to caress it in smooth movements. Up. Tom exhaled hoarsely. His lips were terribly dry. Down. Almost black eyes met green ones, and Irene squeezed the shaft a little harder, realizing that Tom looked as if he'd drunk a bottle of the Elixir of Euphoria. Up and down. The veins swelled hard, and a clear liquid appeared on the end, its sheen forbiddingly tantalizing. Irene leaned forward, giving in to the madness, and barely touched it with the tip of her tongue as Tom gripped her hair with force. His skinny but wiry body tensed, and the relief of his abs played beautifully in the semi-darkness of the room.

"I want you to take it in your mouth," he demanded confidently and loudly.

"Tom, I can't," Irene breathed out excitedly, because she had never done anything like this before.

Tom didn't hear the answer no. He took Irene's head with his other hand and gently pressed on her cheeks, forcing her to open her mouth.

"I want it so damn bad," he rasped out.

She leaned forward and continued to caress him with her tongue. Up and down. Moving smoothly to the head, she wrapped her lips around it, and Tom exhaled with relief. Pleasant to the point of insanity. He didn't want to miss a moment and watched her every move, the way her scarlet lips slid over his cock. And he liked it so much that she began to moan softly.

From the spectacle of what was happening, the filth that reigned here and now, Tom was breathing hard and completely dared. Pulling his pants down, he grabbed Irene's hair with both hands and stood up so he could more comfortably fuck her in her dirty, lying mouth, that was sweet as fuck. The tension was too strong, the sensation too vivid, too close to the peak. Irene began frantically pushing Tom away with her palms and moaning, but he didn't care. A moment of absolute power over this bitch who had led everyone down the primrose path, who had committed arson, who was now on her knees sucking his cock.

He moved roughly, feeling her tight throat and how she tried to push him out. Tension exploded like a supernova, and he filled her throat, groaning. Irene choked, coughing loudly. Semen ran down her chin and dripped onto her breasts and the floor. Tom immediately pulled at the edge of the sheet to wipe her pretty face.

He wasn't done yet.

They both collapsed on the bed, silent, clinging to each other. Finally, after all these years, they were in the same bed, as they had once been... And as once Tom had undressed her, only this time completely. He wanted to see nothing but porcelain skin, black hair, scarlet lips and emerald eyes. Irene sat on top of Tom, leaning forward, bestowing his lips and neck with a scattering of kisses. He was drowning in the intoxicating scent of the triad of jasmine, black rose, and patchouli that made him want her again and again. A naked body he'd seen before, but now it was his. Exclusively his. Here and now. And he could finally let himself do all the things he wanted to do, all the things that had accumulated over this time.

Irene felt the cock beneath her thighs getting hard, making the lingering heaviness in her lower abdomen grow. She exhaled nervously and looked down. The massive cock trembled with growing arousal. Pale fingers slid down and gently squeezed Tom's balls, causing him to rest his head on the snow-white pillow. His black hair spattered across the white fabric like a smudge of ink that had ruined everything that had been written so hard, everything that was so important. Or maybe her hand had deliberately trembled, leaving it? After all, she had certainly wished it with all her being.

Tom moaned softly, feeling her sit on top of him, slowly stretching. He could feel how hot she was on the inside; how tight she was.... He reflexively hooked his fingers into the sheets, straining his abs. Irene exhaled in pleasure: he was filling her completely, so right, so perfect. She began to move gently, trying to get used to the slightly painful sensations.

It felt like his brain had shut down. All Tom felt was her. Finally! He opened his eyes and thrust forward, clutching at her breasts, kissing her clumsily, roughly, painfully, leaving bruises. There was no tenderness here. Something primal, something that had been eating away at his subconscious for a long time, was breaking out.

Tom's eyes blazed red. He saw himself in her, literally and mentally: in her demeanor, in her mannerisms, in her beautiful acting, in the aggression and brutal authoritarianism she held back as best she could, trying to seem like a sweet girl; in the thrill of consuming lust where her rounded hips moved on his cock.

"Mine," Tom whispered, rolling Irene onto her back, wanting to be on top of her, to overwhelm her, to set his own pace exclusively.

He paused for a moment, staring at the pale body, where the blue-green veins were so clearly visible. Slowly he ran his cock over the wet pussy, closing his eyes. Just a bit more and he would cum again, unable to overcome this obsession. Irene understood without words what was happening and immediately reached down where she grasped the base of his cock. Squeezing it a little, not wanting this pleasure to end right now. Tom felt the feeling of precisely demonic exhaustion dulled, and pulling back Irene's hand, he got in roughly. The movements were sharp. Her moaning sounded louder, like music to his ears.

His cock was big and she was so tight. She should be used to the sensation, but he didn't wait: he fucked her with force, pressing her into his bed; he wanted to see her wriggle under him; he wanted to hear her moan; he wanted to feel absolute submission. The tension was so intense, it felt like the whole universe was about to explode. Tom pulled Irene's hair, obedient as a doll, to get her on all fours.

"Tom," she moaned his name, but he silenced her with the palm of his hand as he once had, feeling the moisture of her mouth; feeling her shameless hips move smoothly against his pushes.

"Call me Lord," he breathed out, removing his hand.

"My Lord," Irene moaned, obeying his every whim, submitting completely, because it felt so good. She felt better than ever.

Her lower abdomen filled with a warmth that could no longer be taken, and Irene froze as Tom brazenly quickened, erasing the edges of her consciousness. She moaned loudly, her legs trembling. She was ready to collapse on the bed, but he pressed her head into the pillow, pulling her hips toward him. A few rough thrusts and he cummed onto her rounded thighs with a groan.

Tom collapsed onto Irene's back, pinning her with all his weight to the bed. Her wet black hair stuck to the forehead, just like his. A drop of sweat fell from his nose onto the wrinkled white pillow, and then Tom pulled away Irene's strands and kissed her forehead gently.

"Irene..." he whispered in her ear, still breathing heavily.

"Yeah?" through ragged breaths, feeling his frantic heartbeat.

"It's my first time."

One sentence, and the whole world turned upside down. How was that even possible?! Irene said nothing, unable to move under the weight of his heated body, only to find his palm in hers. Their wet fingers intertwined in a silent quintessence of unity. A silence where words were unnecessary.

She closed her eyes. How about to hell with it? Maybe stay here, in this room forever? Follow this guy who gave himself to her here and now? To belong to him, sharing moments like this?

Irene pressed her face into the pillow, squeezing her eyes hard. What nonsense! He would set her up tomorrow, destroying her to pieces.

Tom's deep breathing broke the silence of the room. He had fallen asleep. Irene climbed out from under the weight of his large limbs and rolled over onto her back, peering up at the ceiling.

The bitterness of understanding that this can't last forever. She can't lie here and listen to his measured breathing, feeling calm and peaceful. She got up quietly. On tiptoe, so he wouldn't wake up. His chest was bruised and hickeyed. Irene took a deep breath and glanced at the sleeping Tom, his back was scratched. A beautiful last encounter, with a reminder left on the bodies of both of them.

Irene gently kissed Tom's forehead, tucking away his unruly curls, which were usually perfectly combed, but not now.

There was a loud knock on the door. Tom opened his eyes. The room was already light. The wrinkled bed. The pillow smelled of her. He looked around. He was alone. The knocking became more insistent.

"Who?" Tom went to the door, but did not open it because he was naked.

"My Lord," Abraxas' voice sounded agitated.

Tom levitated the sheet and wrapped himself in it. He opened the door ajar.

"Did I oversleep something, Malfoy?"

"No, it's still only eight in the morning. But something's come up. All the head boys and girls have been summoned to the Headmaster's office."

"I'll be right there," Tom nodded.

Closing the door, he hurriedly cleaned himself up. What could have happened? His whole gut was frozen in tension. He opened his closet with a hurried gesture and levitated a suitcase from there, opened it. Eyes flashed red. Fingers dug into the sleeves of his robe. Angry laughter shattered the silence of the room.

"What an idiot I am!" Riddle laughed, glowing with hatred and anger. "Nasty bitch! Of course you are! Now I see!.."

He slammed the lid of the suitcase shut with force, not finding Irene's stolen magical walking stick, which he wanted to give to Travers as proof of her lies.

Putting on the mask of the best student, calm and obedient, he headed for the Headmaster's Tower, suppressing the anger that had almost taken over his cold mind.

All the Head Boys and Girls were already in the office.

"Good morning, Mr. Riddle," Dippet looked stern.

"Sir," he nodded politely.

"I hasten to inform you that Hogwarts is closing for Christmas vacation, and all students must leave during this day."

"But what's wrong, sir?" Katherine's worried voice sounded far away.

Tom was silent. Only his cheekbones betrayed his tension. Wool's shitty Muggle orphanage. There's no way he's going to spend those days there.

"Last night, a representative of the Ministry of Magic, many of you know him, Torquil Travers, disappeared. This means only one thing: the castle is not safe. Therefore, it is urgent that you leave Hogwarts."

All the students nodded obediently and headed to their common rooms to notify the rest of the students. Of course, most would have left anyway. But not Tom. His only home was Hogwarts.

"Excuse me, sir," he said cautiously, "would you allow me to stay here? I could help with the investigation if there is a need."

"Tom, there are no exceptions. You need to return to the orphanage," there was a stern reply that made it clear it was non-negotiable.

Riddle nodded silently and strode away. Hate and spite were eating away at every cell in his body. Without knocking, without manners, he came into the girls' room.

"Tom?" Katherine's worried look.

"Where's Düster?" He looked like a predator, clawing at every face present.

"She left first," Grace shrugged, "at seven or six o'clock, I don't remember."

Tom grinned, but his look was unhealthy.

Once in his room, he let his emotions run wild. The desire to kill this bitch he'd allowed to possess his body, giving in to lust, now blazed as strongly as yesterday's desire to fuck her.

Weakness!

Despicable weakness!

Riddle hurriedly threw back the blanket, swinging his palm aggressively. The sheets soared upward, frozen in midair. Not a single drop of blood. An exasperated laugh. And how many times had she used her body? Disgust and hatred swept over his head.

"Fucking lying bitch," Riddle hissed, "I always knew, didn't I! I always knew! How did I allow myself this weakness?"

After packing his suitcase, he set off for the station at Hogsmeade, where the Hogwarts Express was coming in. The wind was nasty, fluttering his black curls defiantly. Snow whipped in his face. Tom didn't talk to anyone. His fellow students didn't bother, recognizing perfectly well the slightest hint of bad spirits.

The monotonous clatter of the train lulled him to sleep. Tom stared out the window at the blizzard, wondering what to do next. What was the chance she'd just never show up at school again? One hundred and ten times out of a hundred that she would. That was probably the best case scenario. After all, that's what he wanted. But now things were a little different. Now his inner beasts had gotten a taste of her. And the fact that she'd twisted him around her finger like a five-year-old boy, lured by a sweet candy, was both irritating and exhilarating at the same time.

Then, in July, after his graduation from the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he would be able to find her. He'd wanted to do it before: find her parents who'd taken her away and kill them all. After all, she hadn't kept a single word she'd said to him, promising to always be there for him.

To kill her parents who came and took what was his.

To kill the bastard who had already touched her.

To kill her, the cause of his momentary weakness.