He was darkness.
He was death.
He was pain.
He was suffering.
He was a mystery. One she intended to solve.
"You wouldn't kill me, Tom." "Avada Kedavra!"
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September Fourteenth, 1943
The halls of Hogwarts were dark. Shadows loomed in corners by sleeping paintings and portraits. Every step she took echoed through the darkness and sent goosebumps down her spine. She knew, as she edged closer and closer to her destination that it was wrong. She should be back in her bed, bundled up in warm, emerald blankets or asleep by the fire, curled up next to sheets of parchment as the dying embers crackled. No, she knew what she was doing, she knew what the consequences would be if she was caught. But she kept walking.
The Slytherin house was riddled with rumors and accusations. People associated it with evil things. Comments like 'only bad people are sorted into Slytherin' and her personal favourite, 'oh, you're in Slytherin? Tell me, how many people have you killed today?'.
Yes, she was a pureblood and although the thought arose some days, no mudblood was annoying enough to murder, Arabella knew she didn't have the stomach for murder like many of her predecessors before her. And some that will come only a year before her...
Tom Riddle. Now he was an enigma. He was a year older than her, in his second to last year at Hogwarts. He was tall, dark and brooding and no one could deny that he was a good looking young man. Sharp cheekbones and green eyes. Eyes that looked down at everyone he met, like he thought himself better than everyone else. Yes, he was pretty to look at but she knew his heart held the deepest and the darkest of secrets that would scare even the greatest of wizards.
"Miss Caerwyn?"
Her eyes widened and her heart sped up. She pushed herself back into a dark corner and held her breath, hoping he didn't catch her.
"Arabella Caerwyn?" the Ravenclaw prefect called again. "Was that you?" A bright light suddenly rounded the corner. The boy, holding his wand outstretched walked closer and closer to where Arabella was hiding. The light about to reach her toes. She stifled a breath and slowly reached into her robe pocket. Arabella drew out her wand and drew it around her head in a circle gently and whispered the incantation.
Thankfully the disillusionment charm worked and Arabella melted into the wall. She held her breath as Jacob Summers past her without a second glance and kept going down the hall, his blue-hemmed robes fluttering behind him. Arabella let out the breath she was holding and felt her heart hammering wildly in her chest. Gripping her wand tightly in one hand and using the other to guide her body down the dark halls, Arabella made her way down the hall.
After many twists and turns, she came to a dead end. "Lumos," she whispered and held her wand up and examined the painting in front of her. It was an older painting, older than most of the other paintings in the castle. The frame was wooden and painted with gold. Flakes of paint had come off during the centuries and created a rugged, tired look. The picture was of a dark-haired man whose eyes were currently shut- sleeping. His skin was wrinkled and gaunt and he held a black walking stick in his left hand. Arabella lifted her wand up higher and saw that behind him was a black, long box that was kept shut by a great big python that was wound around the box like a rope.
