⋆𝐃𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠⋆ - 𝐓.𝐌.𝐑

𝟎𝟎𝟒 - 𝐓𝐨𝐢𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞

⋆

𝗦𝗲𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟭𝟯, 𝟭𝟵𝟰𝟰

Elizabeth didn't usually gain pleasure from others' suffering, she liked to imagine that she was above such petty antics. That didn't prevent her heart from beating something furious and her lips from stretching into a manic grin when Mulciber woke up in the med wing to find her looming over him – and immediately pissed himself. She found great satisfaction in spelling him clean – an assertion of dominance, if you would.

After all, there were several reasons for her presence there; firstly, madame Goodacre's offhanded tutoring in the healing arts was worth more than its weight in Mithril – goblin silver – and secondly, she had to keep an eye on her victims – didn't she?

The incident made her terribly glad she took the early morning shift, even if she barely had time for breakfast before classes started – no longer needing to worry about Hornby due to an event that took place a week ago, meant she could have a later breakfast in peace.

Her eyes wondered over the other house tables until they met ocean blue eyes that had become tediously familiar, and she had to force down a groan.

Tom fucking Riddle.

Ever since Mulciber's incapacitation, she had readied herself for revenge, a duel – something, in retaliation for wounding one of his foot soldiers. She knew Riddle had visited him, and the git was no longer having fever-induced hallucinations at the time so he was certainly coherent enough to tattle – which meant either he didn't because of a bruised ego, or, he did and Riddle didn't really give much of a shite.

Something told her that he did snitch, if only because there was no other reason for Riddle to stop pursuing her for a talk.

It didn't mean that they stopped running into each other, though. This little cosmic coincidence would repeat itself at every fucking opportunity it could; they would somehow end up in the same space, their eyes would meet for the slowest seconds she ever had the displeasure of passing, and then the contact would break and she'll have to go about her business as usual. It was so maddening, it might drive her into an earlier grave – the tension, the unspoken words –

There was nothing to say and yet every time she would be left with a gaping feeling in her chest and scratches on the walls of her throat from paragraphs trying and failing to claw their way out.

She was drawn out of her self commiseration by the scuffles of feet – right, potions – and had to get up herself. The trek down to the dungeons wasn't too bad, she kept her head level and walked with none of the lethargy expected of a person up since 4 AM – no one bothered her. Once they reached the door to Professor Slughorn's classroom – a room that seemed to exist in a separate realm, basking in far too much natural light to be below ground – she had to breathe deeply and exhale through her mouth.

Slughorn was exhausting at the best of times, she often suspected the man wasn't completely lucid during lessons, despite his perceived competence.

⋆

"Make haste, everyone! In your seats you go! Tom my boy! good to see you, good to see you."

"Good morning, professor, I'm looking forward to today's lesson."

Arse-licker.

There were other murmurs of "good morning" as the students situated themselves around the classroom – she took a seat in the front row but off to the side – though Slughorn didn't care much for any of those.

"Ah yes, yes! Have I got a something exciting for you today!"

He floated a piece of parchment in from of himself and she could feel it in her stomach that she was about to be greatly inconvenienced.

"Today's lesson will have you brewing in pairs of my own choosing, being capable of brewing a decent potion even with people you dislike is the mark of a good potioneer, in my humble opinion!"

She was going to throw herself of the astronomy tower, she knew exactly who she'll be paired up with – could feel it in her marrow.

It took an agonizingly long time until finally – because of course, they'll be called out last –

"And lastly, my two star-students! Tom, you'll be paired up with Myrtle Warren."

Maybe, if she asked him nicely, Riddle would murder her.

"You will be brewing the Quadraginta potion, a concoction that temporarily stops the spread of local curse damage until it could be adequately diagnosed and treated – it is NOT a cure-"

His face turned serious in an incredibly rare show of professionalism.

"-and I will dock house points if I hear you referring to it as such, that is not a mistake you want to make in an emergency."

Did he loose someone in that way?

He jovially continued to explain the history behind the potion's invention and absently added in that the brewing process takes several weeks, "and for that reason, every healer worth their salt knows to keep a supply."

Working with Riddle for six hours a week, several weeks in a row, seemed like a nightmare scenario.

Already, she had to be the one that moved tables in order to sit beside him – because Merlin forbid he compromises even a little bit – and got herself subjected to sneered instructions about prepping the cauldron while he went to gather the ingredients – he probably wanted a chance to complain to his subjects about the arrangement and plot her assassination – she was thankful he didn't consider her totally incompetent, however.

The prep was rather straight forward – 

Scourgify a brass cauldron.

Then, wax the inside with griffin lard – basically, crystalized griffin dung.

Add 1⅔ quart of Tofana's potion base №32.

 Afterwards, light a low flame beneath the cauldron.

 – easy, right? Nevertheless, she was still done before Riddle came back and let herself analyze the next few steps of the recipe until he returned – it wasn't necessary, because she could always feel a tangible ripple of magic whenever a reaction had occurred in the potion, but with the devil incarnate breathing down her neck, she refused to allow any room for mistakes.

"I do apologize for Mulciber's pigheadedness and commend your choice of punishment. However, if at any point during this torment I'll find myself covered with red boils, your current sorry state will seem like a blessing. Understood, Warren?"

This bitch.

"Did you know spell damage doesn't show up on me, Riddle? I can make this cauldron explode at any moment and walk away unscathed."

It would still hurt like hell but he didn't need to know that.

He was smirking – why the fuck was he smirking – "seems we have an agreement, Warren, I can't wait to see if you live up to Slughorn's praise. Chop the dittany, I'll get started on the mint."

She was going to find a way for electricity to work within Hogwarts, and then she was going to take a toaster to the prefect's bath.

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A/n. Myrtle has Murphy's Law version of The Sight, poor girlie. By the way, the potion they're brewing is the nameless potion Snape used on Dumby's scar from the ring horcrux, I just named it the latin word for qurantine.