The Slytherin Heir || a T. M. Riddle fanfiction

Chapter 4

Chapter 4 : Let's Work !

Despite Tom's best efforts to stop the clandestine party in the Slytherin common room, the students' will was more powerful.

He gave up and shut himself in his dormitory.

☽ ☀ ☾

The next day was rainy, and the divination worshippers claimed out loud that terrible times lie ahead. Tom wakes up on this Saturday morning and, after taking breakfast in the Great Hall, he heads to the library.

Its shelves laden with ancient leather bound grimoires, the air hung with the smell of old parchment and Tom, his curiosity driving him, stood near the Restricted Section, his eyes scanning the titles on the shelves. Isalia Goldenbairy, who entered the library soon after Tom, equally determined to parcourts the old knowledge these books held, sat at a nearby table, her quill scratching against parchment.

Their rivalry was a silent duel, one of intellect, ambition and challenges.

As rain tapped against the tall windows, Isalia and Tom started to work on their potion project. There was some tension between them, Tom avoided eye contact with Isalia, the memory of the clandestine party still fresh in his mind. And Isalia, straight as a line, carried out the instructions written by her hand in fine, refined script. Their task: to brew an elixir that required finesse and precision.

"Goldenbairy," Tom's voice cut through the quietude, "I hope your potion skills match your pedigree."

Isalia glanced up, her eyes narrowing. "Oh," she replied, her tone cool, "my abilities exceed expectations." Her lips broke into a proud half-smile.

They were each sitting on one side of a small table on which lay a cauldron, flying notes and a host of ingredients, each more bizarre than the last. Tom's gaze locked Isalia's. His ink-black hair fell over his forehead, and Isalia's brown curls framed her freckled face. The walls seemed to hold their breath, aware of the brewing storm.

"Give me the Ashwinder egg, please," Tom gestured towards the ingredient and handed it to her, their fingers brushing. The contact sent jolt through them, and Isalia quickly took the pot. "Thanks."

Riddle's pulse quickened as he watched Isalia lean over the cauldron, her curls brushing her cheek. The library's dim light cast shadows on her face, emphasizing the curve of her lips and the determination in her eye. She was no ordinary rival; she was a puzzle, an enigma that both intrigued and infuriated him.

The air between them was electric, and a silence settled. Soon broken as Isalia spoke, her voice mixed with the sound of the rain dumping on the window, "I know we both don't want to be here, Riddle, but you could make efforts, couldn't you?" He was watching her as she mixed the potion's various ingredients. "Efforts? I'm over that," his eyes shone with a red glam. "Subtlety isn't your strong point, as I see...". Tom didn't say anything, Isalia leaned closer. "Subtlety," she murmured, "can be a potent weapon."

Tom had always been drawn to power, to the raw magic that flowed in his veins, but Isalia's words resonated in him differently. She wielded a different kind of power, one that stirred desire and curiosity in equal measures.

As they measured ingredients, their fingers brushed again. Rain tapped insistently against the window, a rhythm that matched the pounding of their hearts.

"Did you know," Isalia said, her voice low as she added other ingredients to the cauldron, "that Aucùa possessed a potion to reveal hidden desires?"

Tom's mind raced. Hidden desires? What would such a potion reveal about him? His ambition, certainly. But there was something else, something he dared not name.

"It is used before the coronation of a new monarch," she continued, passing a strand of hair behind her ear, cutting mandrake roots, "to make sure of his good intentions."

"Like the Erised mirror," Tom spoke,his voice slightly husky. "If you want..." Isalia responded in a small voice, her expression hidden behind her hair.

She raised her head again, a proud expression and a smile on her face. "The elixir is finally finished," she said. Tom looked at her luminous face, stained with the golden mixture in the cauldron. His heart raced as he watched her, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across her face. Her eyes sparkled with triumph, and he couldn't tear his gaze away from her.

"Now...," she murmured, reading one of her notes, "it needs to rest for... Three weeks?!"