My Dark Lord

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Knights of Walpurgis

Slytherin Girls' Dormitory -- December 12th, 5:46 p.m.

When I opened my eyes, the sun was already gone.

The dungeon ceiling above me glowed a dim sapphire-- charmed to reflect the lake's depth and the lateness of the hour. My limbs ached with the warm heaviness of indulgence, my throat dry, my head thick with the memory of music and whispered confessions.

But there was no hangover. No clouding guilt. Just a silent, settled clarity.

I'd slept through the entire day.

Good.

The party had burned like wildfire through the common room and left behind embers: empty glasses, discarded robes, gossip already no doubt spreading like smoke in the halls. But I... I had rested.

And in the weightless stillness of waking, the answer had come to me.

Yes.

Not because I was afraid of being left out. Not because of Tom's maddening mystery or the way his gaze sometimes touched bone instead of skin. And not even because part of me thrilled at the thought of being chosen.

No-- I would accept because power like his didn't just rise in isolation. It moved in pairs. In shadow and mirror. And if he was building something, then I would be the one to meet him stride for stride-- or rise above him.

A serpent beside a serpent.

"Enough waiting," I whispered, brushing the sleep from my voice.

I sat up, the silk sheets slipping from my shoulders. The dorm was mostly empty-- half-made beds, the rustle of a charmed window adjusting to the hour, a faint hum of someone's discarded magical hairbrush polishing itself. A note from Eileen lay on my nightstand in her looping hand:

Gone to the library (yes, willingly). Calliope and Dahlia are still passed out in the common room. You slept like a cursed princess. Wake up and face the praise you deserve.
-- E

I smiled faintly. Praise could wait.

I slid from bed and dressed quickly-- sweater, boots, and my cloak. Nothing too polished. I didn't want this to be a performance.

I wanted Tom to know.

The castle in winter twilight was hushed, its corridors stretching long and silver under the torchlight. Most students would still be recovering. Dinner wouldn't be served for another hour. It was the quietest moment Hogwarts ever allowed-- and the most revealing.

I searched the dungeons first.

He wasn't in the common room. The embers of the party glowed faint in the hearth, Calliope curled around Avery in one of the high-backed chairs, murmuring in her sleep. Dahlia was slumped sideways on a divan. Eileen, as promised, was absent.

Not here.

I climbed, silently, through the hidden stair behind the tapestry of Valeria the Veiled. Through the library's back corridor-- empty. I knew better than to check the Great Hall or classrooms. Tom didn't linger where others gathered.

He moved.

I paused at the top of the marble staircase, breathing slowly. And then I knew.

He would be where he always is when he thinks no one is watching.

I found him just as the last ribbons of winter daylight were fading into dusk, painting the snow-capped Forbidden Forest in a wash of indigo and pearl.

He stood at the edge of the Astronomy Tower, hands clasped behind his back, silhouetted against the sky like a carved statue of a boy who had never once believed in being young.