Tʜᴇ Dᴀʀᴋ Lᴏʀᴅ's Aɴɢᴇʟ | Tom Riddle √

05: Seeking Answers

Draco and Cassiopeia descended the spiral stairs after Alastor Moody's Defense Against the Dark Arts class. The peculiar lesson had left them with mixed emotions. Moody's use of Unforgivable Curses on an innocent spider had been disturbing.

"Is that true?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow as they made their way down the stairs. "Parkinson mentioned something about you muttering your dead boyfriend's name."

Cassiopeia was puzzled. She hadn't realized that Pansy had overheard her mumbling in her sleep, and she certainly hadn't expected Draco to bring it up.

As they left the classroom, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was still swimming in the sensations from last night's dream. Her skin tingled from the memory of Tom's lips against hers.

Keep it together, Cassiopeia.

"Did you mutter your dead boyfriend's name, Cassie?" Draco giggled, his voice laced with amusement. "I never thought you'd come up with such an imaginative lie."

She sighed as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

"What else could I say when she heard the name I was muttering?" Cassiopeia shrugged, and they turned down a corridor where students were scattered, chatting in small groups.

"So, what was the dream about?" Draco's curiosity got the better of him, and he prodded further. "Parkinson said you were clutching a pillow tightly and muttering that name."

Cassiopeia halted in her tracks, her eyes widening. What had Pansy heard? She wished she could brush off the embarrassment, but it had left an indelible mark.

"Di-did she te-tell like tha-that?" She stammered, her cheeks flushing. "I mean, I wasn't embarrassed at all."

"Was it some kind of erotic dream, Cassie?" Draco inquired, a mischievous glint in his eye.

She gulped, averting her gaze. Their conversation brought back vivid memories she was hesitant to discuss.

"Are you blushing, Black?" Draco teased, and she playfully smacked his chest. "It's not just some playful dream, is it?"

"Absolutely not, Malfoy," she retorted, sitting down on the floor and leaning her back against the wall. She heaved a heavy sigh.

Why him? Why do I keep having these dreams? If Pansy hadn't woken me up, I might have given in to Tom Riddle.

"What's troubling you, Cassie?" Draco asked, concern etched across his face as he joined her on the floor.

"It's the dreams," she confessed. It was a half-truth. The dreams excited her and left her craving for more.

"What happened?" Draco's curiosity battled with his determination to get the truth. How could she tell him? Did he even know that Tom Riddle was Voldemort?

"I hope you know that Tom Riddle is the former name of You-Know-Who," she finally gave in, her voice heavy with dread. "I found out on the train, and I asked Harry about it to confirm."

Draco's eyes widened as realization dawned on him. "You mean to say Tom is—"

"Tom Riddle," she finished his sentence, her anxiety mounting. "I couldn't bring myself to tell you. I was terrified. But that doesn't mean I didn't like his touch."

"What's the connection between your dreams and him, Cassie?" Draco questioned, concern for his friend evident in his eyes. "Why didn't you confide in me earlier?"

"I was just scared," she admitted, looking at him with teary eyes. She wanted to unburden herself, to share her fear. "I wanted to make sure it was really him, so I asked Harry because he knows him well."

"You could have told me," Draco retorted, his soft expression replaced with sarcasm. He was hurt, very much so. "I expected you to come to me first, not Potter."

"I know, but—"

"Save it, Black," he cut her off, his voice growing sharp. He stood up and began to walk away. Cassiopeia reached for his wrist to stop him, to make him understand.

"Draco, just—"

He jerked his hand away, refusing to meet her gaze, and left without looking back. She sighed, watching him until he disappeared from sight.

She could have told him; after all, he was the closest thing to family she had—a brother she had never had. The guilt began to gnaw at her, and she felt like she had only made everything worse. How could she find a solution to this mess?

Merlin, I wish I could erase you, Tom.

"Miss Black?"

Suddenly, Dumbledore's voice echoed in her ears as she looked up. The tall, white-haired headmaster loomed over her, his expression filled with concern. Unbeknownst to her, tears had started rolling down her cheeks, and she felt vulnerable.

He's the one who knows; he's the one who can provide the answers. Cassiopeia quickly gathered her books, her fingers trembling. She wiped away her tears as she stood.

"Professor, I need help," she implored, her voice almost a plea.

"Of course, my dear," he said, gesturing for her to follow. He led her to his office, a spacious circular room. She had been there a few times to seek advice on her Transfiguration studies, but today, she came in search of answers to the enigma of Tom Riddle.

Once the door was closed behind them, she turned to the man who had taken his seat.

"Professor, I have a serious problem," she began, speaking earnestly. "It started when I was eleven. I began having dreams about a boy. I knew him as Tom. At first, they were happy dreams, like we were at Hogwarts, studying and playing. I thought they were just my imagination. But the dream I had on the train yesterday was different, and it shook me."

She paused, looking at the curiosity etched on Dumbledore's face.

"Sir, his name is Tom Riddle," she said, her voice trembling. "I asked Harry what You-Know-Who looked like when he was Tom Riddle. Harry explained, and it matched exactly with my non-existent dream boy, sir."

She finished, letting out a heavy sigh. Dumbledore stood and circled around his desk, approaching her.

"Who else knows about these dreams, Cassiopeia?"

"Only Draco," she replied. "What do these dreams mean, sir? Why am I having them? I've never even met him."

"Are you sure you've never met him?" Dumbledore asked, a note of curiosity in his voice.

"Of course, sir," she replied, her confidence unwavering.

"I believe I can find the answers to your questions," Dumbledore said, rubbing his temples. "But for now, you must tell no one about this."

"Of course, sir," she nodded, relieved that Dumbledore seemed willing to help.

"Can you remember the name you had in those dreams?"

"Cassiopeia, sir."

" Cassiopeia?" He seemed to be looking for more.

" Cassiopeia Lestrange," she confessed, a secret she had kept hidden. She assumed it was normal since her uncle Rodolphus also had the same surname.

"You may go," Dumbledore said, returning to his desk. As she reached the door, he spoke once more, reminding her of the need for secrecy. "Tell no one about this, Cassiopeia."

She nodded and left his office, feeling aglimmer of hope that someone might finally provide the answers she sought.