𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒, ᵗᵒᵐ ʳⁱᵈᵈˡᵉ. ✓

029.

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The dungeons of Hogwarts were always cold, with a dampness that clung to the air and a silence that felt heavy, as though the very walls were listening. It was here, in the heart of the castle, that Daphne Greengrass found herself sitting at a table in the potions classroom, a single lantern casting flickering light over the worn stone walls. The room smelled faintly of ingredients—dried herbs, bitter roots, and a trace of something metallic—leftover from the earlier lessons. Daphne was no stranger to Potions; she had always done well enough, earning decent marks without much effort. But after Professor Slughorn's talk of advanced potion-making and the importance of mastering subtleties in the craft, Daphne's parents had insisted she take it more seriously in her sixth year. And so, to her surprise, she had been assigned a tutor.

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Not just any tutor, of course. Tom Riddle. Tom had excelled in every class since their first year, but his talent for Potions was particularly impressive. Professor Slughorn often praised him in front of the class, practically beaming whenever Tom concocted something flawless—which was always. Daphne, like most students, couldn't help but notice how Tom seemed to glide through academic challenges as though they were beneath him. But there was a sharpness to him, a precision that she knew made him both a brilliant student and a dangerous ally. And now, here they were, seated across from each other in the dim, quiet room.

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Tom had his sleeves rolled up slightly, his wand resting beside a well-worn book of potions. His posture was relaxed, his dark eyes fixed on the page as he flipped through it with the ease of someone who had memorized every line. Daphne, on the other hand, sat a little more rigidly, her hands resting on her book, fingers brushing the parchment absentmindedly as she waited for him to speak. The silence between them stretched on for a moment longer before Tom finally looked up, his gaze sharp but not unkind. "Amortentia," he said, his voice smooth and measured. "The most powerful love potion in existence. We're going to start with that."

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Daphne blinked, caught slightly off-guard. Amortentia? Of all the potions he could have chosen, he picked the one most associated with desire, attraction, and obsession. She raised an eyebrow but quickly composed herself. "That seems... ambitious," she said, trying to keep her voice neutral. Tom's lips curved into a small, enigmatic smile. "If you're going to improve, Daphne, you'll need to move beyond simple brews. Besides, it's an excellent test of precision and patience." He closed the book in front of him and leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes gleaming in the lantern light. "Potions are not about following a recipe blindly. They require understanding intuition. You have to anticipate how each ingredient interacts with the others."

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Daphne nodded slowly, her eyes flicking to the cauldron in front of her. She had heard Tom speak like this before, in class, but it was different now that his focus was entirely on her. He had a way of making everything seem more intense, as though each word he spoke held more weight than it should.

"Alright," she said, taking a deep breath. "Let's begin." Tom watched her closely as she stood and moved toward the shelves of ingredients. His gaze lingered, not in an overtly invasive way, but enough that Daphne could feel it. She gathered the necessary ingredients—Ashwinder eggs, rose thorns, and pearl dust—carefully placing them in neat rows on the table. Tom remained seated, his posture calm as he waited for her to return. When she sat down again, he picked up the first ingredient, the Ashwinder eggs, and held it between his fingers as though it were the most delicate object in the world

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"The key to Amortentia," Tom began, "is timing. If you add the ingredients too quickly or out of order, the potion becomes unstable. But with the right control... it can be the most powerful thing you'll ever brew."Daphne watched his hands as he added the eggs to the cauldron, his movements smooth and practiced. Something was mesmerizing about the way he handled each ingredient, as though he had done it a thousand times before. As she added the next few ingredients under his guidance, she felt her initial nervousness begin to fade. The process, though complex, was calming in a way—each step precise and methodical, with no room for error.

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After a few minutes, the potion began to emit a soft, spiraling steam, and Daphne caught a faint, intoxicating scent. Amortentia had the unique property of smelling differently to each person, based on what attracted them the most. For Daphne, the scent was familiar but elusive—fresh parchment, the crispness of pine in the winter air, and something darker, warmer that she couldn't quite place.Tom's eyes flickered as he noticed the change in the air. His gaze shifted from the cauldron to Daphne, and for a moment, something unreadable crossed his expression. "Do you smell it?" he asked quietly, his voice low.

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Daphne nodded, though she didn't trust herself to speak. The air felt heavy and thick with the potion's allure, and the small compartment of the dungeons seemed to close in around them. She could feel her heart racing, though she wasn't sure if it was because of the potion or because of Tom's proximity. He leaned closer, his eyes dark and intense as they met hers. "What do you smell?" Daphne hesitated, unsure whether to answer. There was a tension between them now, something unspoken but palpable. She wasn't sure if it was the potion working its magic or if it had been there all along, simmering beneath the surface of their interactions.

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"I'm... not sure," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. Tom's lips quirked slightly as though he found her answer amusing. "The scent is a reflection of desire," he said softly, his eyes never leaving hers. "But it's not always something we're ready to acknowledge." There was a pause, and in that moment, Daphne felt as though the world had narrowed down to just the two of them, the flickering lantern and the swirling potion between them. Tom's presence was overwhelmingly magnetic in a way that made her both nervous and drawn to him.

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She cleared her throat, trying to break the tension. "What do you smell?" Tom's gaze darkened, and for a moment, Daphne thought he wouldn't answer. But then, he leaned back slightly, his eyes still holding hers. "Power," he said simply, his voice cool and detached. "Control. And perhaps... something else." Daphne's heart skipped a beat at his words. The air between them crackled with intensity, and she couldn't help but wonder what exactly that "something else" was. But before she could ask, Tom stood and moved to the other side of the room, his expression returning to its usual composed mask.

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"We're done for today," he said, his tone now brisk, as though the moment had passed. "You did well, but next time, I expect you to take more initiative." Daphne blinked, surprised by the sudden shift. She nodded slowly, standing and gathering her things. The potion still bubbled quietly in the cauldron, its intoxicating scent lingering in the air. As she packed her books into her bag, Tom approached the door, pausing for a moment before turning to look at her once more.

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"Remember, Daphne," he said quietly, his eyes glinting in the dim light, "potions are all about control. Master that, and you can bend anything—anyone—to your will." With that, he left, the door closing softly behind him, leaving Daphne alone with the swirling potion and the faint scent of something she still couldn't quite place. As she stood there, her heart still racing, she realized that Tom's words—his lesson—had been about far more than potions. And that thought both thrilled and terrified her.

Word count: 1306