The Seven {tom riddle}

Chapter Eight

tw: toxic relationships and references to drugs and su1c1de

The common room looked even more green than usual, if that was possible. A fire was crackling in the huge hearth, candles floated around each pillar, and enchanted globes of emerald light hung suspended in the air. A sort of magical disco ball hung from the middle of the high ceiling, sending sparkling slices of light spinning about the room, projecting laser-like shapes on the walls. The Slytherins had somehow taken exactly what Evelyn imagined a rave to be, and made it incredibly classy. Instead of house or techno music, 40s muggle pop played from several stereos with the bass boosted ridiculously high.

Unsurprisingly, Malfoy was already trashed. He sat, pupils blown wide, in a corner, talking animatedly to Black and a couple of boys Evelyn didn't recognise. Riddle was lounging, nursing a drink, among a circle of listeners who seemed to be soaking in whatever story he was telling like fat lizards in the sun. He looked a little more relaxed then she'd seen him, top button on his crisp white shirt undone and hair looking as if he'd run his hand through it. She noted Lestrange was among his groupies, looking as awed as a doe eyed girl to his left who gazed at Tom with sheer amazement.

Riddle looked up as they walked in, eyes skirting over Hera to settle on Evelyn. He drank in the sight of her long, tan legs and smooth shoulders, and tried not to follow the plunge of her silver necklace. Dearborn had dressed her well, awfully well.

Her dress was a pale green silk slip, falling just above the knee, with lace trim at the top and bottom. He tried not to notice how it clung to the curves of her waist, or the way the cowl neckline draped down in soft folds, exposing a fair bit of Evelyn's décolletage and her sharp collarbones.

Around her neck was a simple chain that split into three layers, the longest dipping suggestively down below the v-neck of the dress. Her earrings were dripping silver links that hung like raindrops, twinkling melodiously as she moved into the room.

She looked good in green, and the shade of it matched the ring around her iris. A shame she was wearing silver, he thought. Gold would bring out the speckles in those eyes so much better

A pair of broad shoulders obscured his vision and halted his train of thought. Rosier had risen from his seat with the Quiddich boys and was walking towards Evelyn, holding his hand in hers, examining her wrist.

Then he saw it. A rose, the rose she had drawn for him in Potions. What a clever boy. Tom twisted his face, bitterly. Doubtless it was beautiful, after all, she had drawn it, but everything about it screamed with wrongness. The rose, for Rosier. What a nasty touch.

Why did he care? Wasn't this what he had ordered? He'd told the boy to make Ollivander his top priority, and evidently that's what he was doing, maybe this was all a way to get information. Rosier was a means to an end.

But there was something a little too musical in the way she laughed at whatever foolish thing he said, a little too rosy in the blush that stole over her when he spoke some meaningless compliment into existence. Tom shook his head. He took three deep breaths and looked instead to the circle around him, his eyes finding the brunette beside Lestrange. He gave her his most charming smile, and offered to get her a drink.

Evelyn had accepted Elias' invitation to dance, laughing as he pointed his wand at the stereo and Frank Sinatra's velvety voice burst from it. The Way You Look Tonight, he had chosen. Damn him.

He pulled her to him, ignoring the groans of their friends as the slower song started.

'Yes, you're lovely, with your smile so warm,' Elias sang softly, one hand on her waist and the other holding hers. He spun her around.
'And the way you look tonight,'