My Dark Lord

Chapter Nineteen: Athletes and Allure

Evening -- Hogwarts Library, Upper Floor Alcove

The white serpent slipped soundlessly across the polished stone, pale against the darker shadows of the castle. Her scales caught the flicker of candlelight like glints of moonlight on glass.

No one looked down.
No one ever did.

And that was the beauty of it.

After weeks of mastering the transformation and the exhausting secrecy, it felt good-- better than good, almost intoxicating-- to simply be present without being seen. I didn't slither through the dungeons just to practice anymore.

I listened.
I learned.

And tonight, Hogwarts had plenty to offer.

I slid along the edge of the upper library gallery, where six older Ravenclaws had gathered after dinner in one of the forgotten alcoves. A hidden niche above the shelves-- rarely patrolled, perfectly concealed. My tail curled lightly under a floor-length curtain, my head barely poking out near the tapestry of Beatrix the Bizarre.

Sixth-years. 

I recognized most of them: Daphne Clearwater, Pyrrhus Whitcomb, Callista Gold, and that flamboyant idiot Erasmus Greaves, the one who had once claimed he could "seduce a Veela into celibacy."

They were whispering, and giggling. The topic?

Not Ancient Runes. Not NEWT strategy.

But something far more revealing.

"Alright, alright," Daphne said, chin resting on her hand. "One name. No dodging. If you could sleep with any boy at Hogwarts, who would it be?"

The others groaned theatrically.

"That's so fourth-year, Daphne," Pyrrhus muttered.

"And yet you're already thinking about your answer," Callista grinned.

I stayed still, completely still, the way only a snake could. I expected inane answers-- Quidditch captains, dashing Gryffindors, maybe that dreamy Beauxbatons transfer who stayed half a term.

But the room went oddly quiet for a beat.

Then Daphne said, slowly:

"Honestly? Tom Riddle."

My body went stiller, if that were possible. Even as a snake, I felt it.

"Ugh," Erasmus groaned, "obvious."

"But he is pretty," Callista said. "All those brooding silences and intense eye contact..."

"Not to mention he never flirts," Daphne added. "Makes you wonder what it would be like if he did."

"Cold," Pyrrhus muttered. "I don't care how perfect his hair is-- he gives me the creeps."

"It's the mystery," said another. "Dark, intense, aloof. Girls eat that up."

"You mean you eat that up," Erasmus drawled. "Don't forget he's half the reason the Slytherin first-years don't speak in public. That boy commands a room like he built it."

They all laughed. Not unkindly. But with awe. And something else.

Fear.
Desire.
Curiosity.

I didn't move, but my mind reeled.

I'd always known Tom inspired something dangerous in others. But hearing it reflected like this-- laid out so plainly by people outside his circle-- did something strange to my insides.

Because they weren't wrong.

And yet they didn't know him.

Not like I did.