complicity [tom riddle]

i.

1st September 1944

Heidi surveyed her new accommodations with a faint sense of satisfaction, her gaze sweeping over the untouched expanse of the room. Dumbledore, in his enigmatic kindness, had granted her the rare privilege of privacy, a respite from last year’s ordeal of sharing quarters with a Greengrass—control-obsessed, sharp-tongued, and intolerable.

This year, however, was hers to design. With a flick of her wand, she adorned the walls with trailing black lace, their intricate patterns spilling shadows in the dim light. On her bedside table sat a delicate, white, heart-shaped cigarette plate—an ironic contrast to the stack of towering books that loomed in the corner. A velvet-black throw, rich as midnight, was draped across her bed. This feels like me, she mused, the faintest smile gracing her lips.

The mirror caught her attention, drawing her into its cool reflection. Her thoughts were restless. Would it be worth the effort to appear polished this year? The question lingered as she traced her features with an almost clinical detachment. Looking good had a way of making her feel better.

Resolute, Heidi snapped on thigh-high socks and downed a splash of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. She rolled her skirt just enough to feel rebellious and splashed her face with cold water, the chill bracing. With a practiced hand, she affixed the gleaming Prefect badge to her chest. Skipping breakfast seemed the proper finishing touch.

Sprawled across her bed, she luxuriated in the freedom of solitude. Defence Against the Dark Arts was first, and she had long since committed the entire syllabus to memory. She plucked a cigarette from a pack on the bedside table and lit it with her engraved lighter—H.B., a gift to herself for her sixteenth birthday. She inhaled deeply, her mind momentarily soothed by the acrid smoke. Twirling the antique watch on her wrist, a comforting relic of a bygone age, she acknowledged the small rebellions that marked her independence—acts her old roommate would have found abhorrent.

She cracked the window to release the smoke before extinguishing the cigarette with a theatrical gesture. Her black leather book bag, tied with a neatly knotted ribbon, swung against her side as she locked the door behind her. A whispered charm sealed it. Her fingers brushed the cool cobblestone walls of the Slytherin Dungeon as she navigated toward the grander, warmer main building.

Lanterns flickered along the halls, casting long shadows over ancient portraits. She often spoke to these paintings, coaxing stories from their painted lips, their pasts more compelling than most of the living souls around her. The corridors grew louder as students gathered, ties of every house color blending into a cacophony of sound and motion.

Her thoughts fractured as a heavy foot planted itself in her path, and a shove from behind sent her sprawling. Heidi found herself glaring up at the jeering faces of Judias Avery and Abraxas Malfoy. Their laughter was as grating as nails on slate.

“Real classy!” she snapped, brushing herself off and retrieving her book bag.

Avery extended a hand, mock concern dripping from his voice. “Someone ought to help you up, little miss. No?”

“I am perfectly capable, thank you,” she hissed, brushing past them.

Malfoy sneered as they disappeared into the crowd, leaving her to contemplate the bitterness of her mission: to endure them. Not befriend them—that part was simple—but tolerate their presence, their insufferable posturing.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was a beacon amidst the dreary day. Professor DuLac, sharp-witted and affable, was a rare ally. Yet, as she entered the classroom, her mood soured. The chalkboard, levitating and scrawling with unnerving speed, revealed a new seating plan.

Her name appeared beside his. Tom Riddle.

Her lip stung as she bit down in frustration. She hadn’t expected kindness from DuLac, but this? The man himself emerged, offering a sly smile as her gaze bore into him.

“Apologies,” he murmured, leaning close. “This is for your own benefit. Trust me.”

Heidi slumped into her seat, her glare tempered only by resignation. Across the room, Riddle entered, his dark eyes scanning the classroom with quiet authority. Tobias Nott trailed behind him, a peculiar enigma in their clique. Heidi allowed herself a moment of nostalgia for their shared, secret exchanges of books in fourth year. But those days were gone, buried under the weight of bloodline loyalties.

Class unfolded without incident, though Heidi felt Riddle’s presence like a storm cloud at her side. His silence was unsettling, a calculated absence of malice that hinted at deeper motives.

The bell signaled the end of the period, but Heidi lingered. She confronted DuLac, perching herself on the desk opposite his.

“This seating arrangement is preposterous,” she fumed. “You know how I feel about Riddle.”

DuLac met her ire with a measured smile, leaning closer. “Dumbledore’s orders,” he explained. “And truthfully, I think you two might surprise each other.”

Her protest was silenced as he healed the split in her lip with a whispered spell. His touch lingered, warm and disarming. She left the classroom unsettled, thoughts spiraling as she collided with another figure in the hall.

“You’re moving like liquid poison today,” came the low, sardonic drawl.

She looked up into the piercing gaze of Tom Riddle.

“Feeling talkative now, Tom?” she quipped, her tone sharper than intended.

“Riddle,” he corrected coolly, his hand briefly gripping her wrist in warning.

“Careful,” she retorted, shaking him off. “We wouldn’t want anyone reporting you for assault.”

His eyes burned with unspoken menace, yet his composure remained intact. “The same to you, Battleaxe,” he murmured before retreating into the crowd.

Heidi stood frozen, the exchange replaying in her mind. Riddle's words clung to her like a chill.

Careful.