My Dark Lord

Chapter Twelve: Shadow Beneath the Surface

The Black Lake -- Midnight

The castle slept behind me.

Far above, in the shadowed ramparts, I knew the prefect patrols were pacing, tomes closed, eyes drooping. But I had slipped out too easily-- gliding down the dungeons like smoke, past the trick stair and the creaking suits of armour.

I stepped into the open night.

The grass glittered with dew beneath my boots, and the lake ahead rippled like liquid obsidian, catching every glint of starlight in its surface like it had stolen the sky and swallowed it whole.

Cadmus was already waiting.

He leaned against a rock near the shore, shirt sleeves rolled, tie loosened, wand resting beside him like an afterthought.

"You're late," he called with a grin.

"You're lucky I came at all," I said, approaching with controlled grace. "Prefect badge or not, I could get a week's detention for this."

"You? Detention?" he teased, offering a hand to help me down the slope. "Scandal."

I took it.

Only briefly.

We sat beneath a twisted willow tree, its branches reaching toward the lake like gnarled fingers. The water lapped at the stone edge below us, rhythmically. Hypnotic.

He talked for a while-- about nothing, about Quidditch, about how the stars in this part of the sky looked like the constellation Serpens if you tilted your head.

I let him.

It was easier than resisting the way he looked at me.

He fell quiet eventually.

And in the quiet, I felt it again-- that soft pull, magnetic and slow. I turned my head slightly to meet his eyes. He was already watching me.

"I used to think you hated me," he said.

"I did."

"And now?"

"I'm undecided."

He leaned closer.

I didn't move.

His voice dropped. "Would it ruin your reputation if I kissed you?"

"No," I whispered.

And then he did.

It wasn't reckless or messy. It wasn't practiced like Riddle's words, or calculated like my own.

It was warm, and unexpectedly soft, and-- worse-- it made me forget for a moment that I'd promised myself never to be distracted.

I let him rest his hand gently on my cheek. Let myself sink into the feeling of being wanted, not because of who my father was, or what I was capable of, but because of me.

Then--

A shiver across the water.

Not the breeze.

Not the tide.

Something else.

I pulled away slowly, eyes narrowing. "Did you hear that?"

Cadmus sat up straighter. "Probably a grindylow--"

"No." I was already on my feet.

The surface of the lake had gone unnaturally still.

Too still.

Then, with a soft splash-- barely more than a whisper-- a shape broke the surface. Pale. Glimmering. Wrong.